


Sanctuary

by sfiddy



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Clerics, F/M, Intrigue, Ogre War, Outcasts and Refugees, Politics, Romance, Slow Build, Spinner Rumpelstiltskin | Mr. Gold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2014-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-31 01:52:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 73,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sfiddy/pseuds/sfiddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chased by evil clerics, Belle flees to an isolated village.  There, outcast and abandoned, Rumplestiltskin toils under terrible obligation to support his beloved son.  Two lonely candles in an ocean of darkness.  A Spinner!Rum AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a less fluffy than my other work, but I still promise the happily ever after.

Raucous laughter and the sound of heavy pewter striking wooden tabletops drifted to the slight man on the footpath outside. It took more of his strength than it should to open the heavy wooden doors. The warmth of the air and the rich smells within took his breath away for a moment and served to remind him of the urgent need to get back home.

The tavern fell quiet as the thump of his walking stick hit the boards. He was used to it.

“Milah? It’s getting late. Won’t you come home?”

A woman, thinner than her bones demanded though better fed than he, tossed her head and rolled her eyes. She held up a full mug of drink and waved at him, then draped her arm across the shoulders of a rough and cruel looking seafarer.

“Please, Milah,” he said, trying not to plead.

“What is this, Milah? Is it yours?” The man she chose to favor asked, pointing casually in the general direction of the man firmly gripping the walking stick. It steadied his hands.

Milah plucked her clothing, just shabby enough that anyone could see that she wouldn’t say no to the right offer. “That,” she said, pressing herself to the man’s chest. “That is Rumplestiltskin. My husband.” The woman grinned with cruelty fostered by drunkenness. “Why, are you jealous?”

The tavern erupted in laughter and Rumplestiltskin wavered. Whether she knew it or not, Milah had thrown a gauntlet.

“Milah, please. We need you at home. Just come with me and I’ll take care of you.”

The large man whose lap she’d occupied stood and placed his hand on his sword. “I think she can stay as long as she likes. Or do you plan, as her husband, to compel her? Or me?”

He trembled. Clutching the stick now was no help. “Our boy. He needs her. Please, let her come home.”

Milah staggered and lifted her mug in a toast, said not a word, and drank. The ale spilled over the edge of the mug, dribbled over her neck and left droplets trailing into her tunic. The hand on the sword gripped harder as the man saw a prize to be achieved.

“Rumplestiltskin, I believe your son is hungry. Go feed him.” The man never took his eyes off Milah’s breasts.

“He needs his mother. Please Milah.” He was begging openly, and addressed the man directly. “She’s my wife!”

The man was infuriated. “Is that how it works here? Then claim her, runt!” He stepped forward and shoved Rumplestiltskin backwards. “If you want your woman, take her!” The man’s voice dropped to a growl. “Or are you too much of a coward to take back what is yours?”

The tavern hushed. He knew he should fight. That’s what men did when they were threatened, when someone tried to do wrong by them, take their wife. But not him. Even if he won, and Milah was obliged to come home, she would hate him and probably their son as well.

But he wouldn’t win. He was cold, tired, and hungry and he had to think of Bae. If he fought, he risked injury that might keep him from working or, worse, he’d be hurt badly enough that he’d have to rely on help from his five year old son.

So, to the roaring laughter and catcalls of the tavern, he took his only real option: he walked away. A few small projectiles hit his back as he went. 

Silver pieces. 

“Those are from me! You can tell your son that Killian Jones bought his supper tonight.” Milah was in the man’s arms again. 

If he picked up the silver, he’d sold his wife. But he’d be able to feed Bae for a week.

He made one last attempt. “Come home, won’t you, Milah? To Bae?” He could feel his lips trembling, his voice shaking out the words. “Your son?” 

Her eyes reflected the hurt, but it was too late. Years with him had taken too much from her. She turned her back and took another full mug.

The silver pieces glinted on the floor in the firelight, and he prayed no one would kick him as he stooped to pick them up. He no longer had space for pride, that feeling for men with plump cozy wives, pink cheeked children, and clothes that kept out the wind. It was after sunset, and Bae was hungry. Porridge did not cook itself.

…  
…

The Marchlands were under siege. Red skies in the distance threatened the normally pink and yellow sunrise as the breadbakers and egg sellers scurried far below at the market stalls. At her window, La Fille de Marquis Isabelle Marie deFiler Patrie, Belle to her childhood nurse, daughter of the Duke and only heir to the rich lands and the castle that commanded them, watched the market as events swirled around her.

An advisor droned to her father, Sir Maurice. “The match would ensure access not only to Sir Gaston’s men, but aid from King George as well as training for our archers.” 

“And horses? Armor? Food for the people here?” Sir Maurice was not a strategist, but he knew enough. “What about medical supplies and healers? If they wish to use us as the front, then I demand the support needed!”

Scribes flicked their quills, composed missives and outlined contracts. That she would be married to this Gaston was a given. The question was the amount of compensation to her homeland for acting as the buffer zone and strategic gambit to the rest of the realm in an Ogre war.

“I am assured that Sir Gaston is able to provide any and all needed supplies, both for the actual war as well as for the expected effects and suffering it will no doubt bring. He is prepared to send the first wagon loads once his suit is accepted, then more as the public announcements and arrangements are made.”

Belle admired a handsome cart of pigs destined for market. Another cart was heavy with fruit from the orchards on the southern side of the castle. 

“I’d like an apple.” She murmured.

“Sir Gaston also intends to provide the people with spiritual help and guidance, and promises to build a fine monastery where your people can find comfort.”

Sheaves of wheat and sacks of grain moved below. Belle wondered if Sir Gaston had ever been hungry.

“If he beats back the ogres, then he may build as large a monastery as he wishes.”

A chime rang out through the castle announcing the noon meal. 

“Counselors, we should retire to the hall and eat. Let us continue these talks and return here tonight.” Sir Maurice swept across the room to his daughter. “Dear child, you will be second only to a queen when all is said and done. Through this match we will ensure safety for the entire realm!” He kissed her forehead and patted her shoulder. “Oh my, that open window lets in a draft!” Sir Maurice pulled the window shut and laid the heavy curtain over it, leaving the room dim and stuffy. “We will see you tonight, my dear!”

The last of her ‘guests’ left the room, the door shut behind them by her guards, and bolted from the outside.

No one brought her an apple.


	2. Chapter 2

Able bodied men were plucked from the town and hauled off to war, never to be seen again. The workload of the village fell to the old men and young boys, then the women. Their faces grew more drawn and hardened, and there was less and less to go around. Less to share, even if it was for Bae and not the town coward, Rumplestiltskin.

He’d sold everything they did not need in the first year they were alone. Decorative touches in their hut had been few and rather roughhewn, but they fetched a few coppers when the pirate's silver pieces ran out and his hands bled too much to spin. Now, midway through the second year, with the war in neighboring provinces and conscription stealing their strongest men, no one had the money to buy his usual heavy woolen yarns. His spinning wheel was adjusted and set to spin twines and rough rope for sale to the army, but it was hard work and required him to prepare bale after bale of hemp straw. They spent half the day beating and soaking straws to soften them and the other half spinning while somehow, with cuts in his hands burning and sweat running off him, he kept a meal ready for Bae and tried to teach him the trade. Six year old boys wear out easily, and Bae needed naps after thrashing the straw. After dark, when Bae was tucked up in bed, Rumplestiltskin mended clothes, washed the cook pot, and rinsed off the grime from his long day. 

Twice a week they went to the village market and sold all he made. Usually they had enough extra to buy a bit of meat from the monger on the way back to supplement the rabbit or two they caught in the garden. Milah had kept a garden, though not very well at the end, but potatoes are hardy and come back every year. The herbs were gone, and the peas long fallen from the trellis. A few carrots managed to grow in the hard packed soil, and though Bae did his best with the rake, he wasn’t strong enough to work the heavy earth. Rumplestiltskin needed to remember to turn the soil for next year. Bae could just do the weeding.

This night was a lean one. They were running low on potatoes and the local hens were laying fewer eggs, so the women were even less willing to sell to him. Once in a while he caught one of the village women giving Bae a sausage or a cooked egg, and he was careful to pretend he didn’t see. As much as he wanted to believe they were being kind, he knew that there were daughters in those houses, and eventually they would need husbands. The world had eaten up all the men, and the women of the village were planning ahead.

Despite these little gifts, Bae was a growing boy and his tummy was always empty. Rumplestiltskin feigned a lack of appetite and settled for a few spoonfuls of porridge, filling Bae’s bowl instead. The boy ate well once he was convinced his father had enough and was soon sleepy. He bathed and tumbled into the pile of furs they shared to sleep as only a child can.

Rumplestiltskin could feel the deepening chill in the night air and reminded himself to fetch the extra furs from upstairs. Winter would come hard and soon if the crisp zing was any indication. The garden would freeze and they would subsist on grain and storage for the winter. Though he knew it would not be enough, he prayed that it would at least get them through.

He was desperately tired, but there was a winter to prepare for. He had piles of softened hemp ready, but he’d managed to barter rope for a few bags of fine wool clippings. After all, what good is having the sheep if you cannot move them anywhere? 

The brushes he had not used in months were in his tool box, and he began to card and clean the fibers slowly and carefully. He would make this gamble. He had to. There was a notable shortage of finery since the wars had begun years ago, and the bite had gone deeper recently. 

As Rumplestiltskin settled in to spin, Bae’s soft, deep breathing set the tempo for the work.

…

…

Belle’s hands were unused to real work. They cramped as she worked the scissors through the rough old sails to cut strips. The fabric had yet to be waterproofed so they would make good bandages, and, alongside her maids, she rolled the strips into packets ready for use in the field.

In truth, she did not mind. It was her place to provide aid and comfort, and if that meant pulling weeds or boiling water, she would do it. It also meant she had time in her own head, away from the court, the advisors, and the constant watching eyes. The only people here were also working and merely correcting or aiding her, not seeking leverage or a weakness to exploit later. 

It was menial, dirty, and exhausting, but it was honest.

She was sent to work alongside her fellows as a sign of her intent to stay through the fighting. It meant some privation, though nothing like her father’s subjects. Men returned from the front in pieces, and Belle was allowed only to prepare the supplies, not actually see to the men.

Sir Gaston would not have his future wife gazing upon men in a state of undress, but it didn’t stop her ears hearing their screams or whimpers of pain. Her maids brought stories of horrors, and their eyes slipped out of focus when they sat quietly. When Belle was allowed out of the castle walls, she walked as close to the market as Gaston’s guards allowed and noted the slim offerings there. She heard that much of the orchard had been cut down to build weapons, barracks and barricades. The garden plots of peasants had been usurped and seasonal bounty taken to feed the men at the front. 

Children grew reedy and Belle snuck pillow-soft rolls stuffed with bits of chicken and fat in her cloak pockets, passing them to their mothers while they rolled bandages together. She knew it wasn’t much, and would never be enough, but she hated the fear in their eyes when the commissars made their rounds.

The clerics were the worst, demanding not just the lifeblood of the town but insisting that they be jolly for it. It was easy for them to say when this wasn’t their home, wasn’t their blood, and the dark brown cloaks they wore were whole and had heavy hoods. Glory was easy to find when the sky wasn’t red with your own blood.

Gaston had sent her a silken wrap and matching slippers made from the King’s own fabric bolts. She never wore them but when he demanded audience with her. It was childish, but Belle felt ashamed to wear them when her own maid’s sisters were folding layers of burlap into their children’s cloaks. Even her work dresses seemed too rich these days. She stood out like a peacock in the midst of crows.

One day, Belle realized there were too many men in and around the hospital. There weren’t enough men in the Marchlands to have so many bodies there.

“Who are they all?” She whispered to a maid.

“They’re from everywhere. All over, my Lady.” The maid pointed around the room. “Those are from the Lowlands, those there are from the River Valley, these are from the Frontlands…”

“Stop! Please!” Belle choked. “Why so many?”

“They believe the war is making a turn. Conscripts from all the realm are here. They say the ogres are entrenched with no escape, and that we have a new weapon that has turned the tide.”

“But they’re wounded!” Belle gasped. “So many!” 

“Yes, Lady Isabelle,” A cleric slid alongside her, accompanied by a soldier. “But there are so many more still strong enough to fight. And win. We will vanquish this enemy and return peace and prosperity.” The cleric eyed her, appraisingly. “You would do well to remain indoors, my Lady. These are rough sights for eyes pretty as yours. I doubt Sir Gaston would approve.”

A chill shot through Belle’s bones and she ran.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI- I lost all my flash drives recently and, along with *lots* of other things, the most recent draft of Sanctuary at the time. I've spent the last week reconstructing the scenes I lost and it's a terribly painful process. I may update a bit slower for a while as I try to stay far ahead so I can add and fill in detailing without disrupting the story. I promise not abandon it as long as you promise to be patient so I can do a good job. Deal? 
> 
> Deal!!

It took two weeks to spin it all, working in between the orders for ropes and rough twines. Rumplestiltskin had to keep his hands treated with lanolin to close any cuts and soften his skin so he could apply the correct pressure to delicate fibers, keeping the threads slim and tight.

He avoided thinking about his sore hands and the late hour by remembering why he was doing it. He had to protect and care for Bae, for if he could not, then clerics might try to take and raise him as a child of the monastery, or he’d be sent as a child soldier. He may not fight, but the boys in the luggage were as much at risk as the soldiers on the line.

In the end he had a fair pile of spools that he’d dyed with the powdered ochre and the last of the indigo from far better days. He used the last saffron threads to add depth to the dried dandelion dye for a nice yellow and the bitters from nut husks made a soft brown. The dye had set the tight spin on the threads perfectly and left them smooth enough to slip through fine fabrics without drag.

If this didn’t support them, then he was all out of ideas. 

At sunrise, with barely a few hours of sleep and an empty stomach, Rumplestiltskin woke his son. “Bae? Son, we’ve got to go. Breakfast is on the hob and we’ll leave once you’ve eaten.”

“Papa?” Bae rubbed his eyes sleepily.

“Yes, Bae?” Rumplestiltskin carefully packed his wares into his travel bag and set a wrapped meal for them on top. 

“Can we visit the sweet shop at market?”

“If there’s time and enough left after the sale.” He sold regularly at the local market, and directly to the army, but there was no one in the village who could afford what he was selling today, so they had to leave much earlier than usual to walk to the next biggest town. If he was lucky, he might be able to sell to a local tailor or the tapestry maker.

They left their two room hut soon after daybreak and set a gentle pace for the neighboring town of Longbourne. Without a cart, it would take them at least two hours to walk, so there was no time to dawdle if he wanted to make a sale during the height of the market.

When they arrived, the bustle was immense. “Papa! Look, there are jugglers and shows and sweets and can you see the pretty ladies over there?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled at his son. They were isolated at home, and the relative anonymity afforded by another town freed them both. “If you want, Bae, you can go watch the juggler while I get started.” The boy began to run off but Rumplestiltskin caught his arm. “Just stay where I can see you. If you can do that, I promise you can get a sweet before we leave.”

Bae flitted off and stood near a stall as his father began to seek out the tailor in the hopes of selling the entire lot of fine threads he’d made. He could get a better price if he sold them one spool at a time, but that might take all day, and be more work than he had energy for. Plus, if he could secure a single buyer it might mean a repeat customer, even regular deliveries.

Or a discount on clothes. Bae was growing fast.

In the end, the tailor bought half of the thread, and asked Rumplestiltskin to return. If the thread was strong and sold well, he would buy more. It was better than what he’d arrived with, so he whistled for Bae and let the boy pull him by the arm towards the sweets.

“Papa! Do you see? They have honey bread!”

A copper bought four dense, sticky rolls and a loaf to carry home. They sat at the edge of the market square and feasted, licking the heavy glaze from their fingers. Rumplestiltskin laughed at the shiny dollop stuck on Bae’s nose, and helped him to the trough by the well to clean his face.

“Are you the man who sold thread to the tailor?”

A huge man, uniformed and armed, had tapped his shoulder and was evaluating him. Fear lanced through Rumplestiltskin, sending prickles along his scalp and he tucked Bae behind him. He could almost hear the jeering begin, as if they’d followed him from home and had only just caught up to him.

“I say, man. Are you deaf? Mute? Did you or did you not sell the thread?”

His voice caught, but he managed a noise in the affirmative and a nod of his head. Bae popped his head out from behind Rumplestiltskin’s back. “You shouldn’t scare people like that.”

His father, eyes wide with terror for his son, knowing what big men thought of beggar children, shoved Bae under his cloak and bowed his head. “Pardon, sir! He’s a wee boy and doesn’t know his betters yet.”

The soldier looked down at the little feet peeking out from under the rough cloak. He laughed. “The boy has nothing to fear from me. If you are the seller, then the lady of the castle would like to purchase the remainder of your wares. She visited the tailor and saw the thread, and now demands it for her embroidery. Is there more? I am authorized to offer you a handsome sum, and am bid to ask if you would be her supplier.”

He froze. A patron. He might have a fine lady as his patron. Bae would never go hungry and never have to wear scratchy burlap again. He could afford better materials, and…  
As he leaned over to transfer the spools to the soldier’s waiting satchel, a length of rope flopped out.

“Hang on, man. I know this rope.” The soldier held up the sample. “Yes, this is the only rope we use with the horses. We can tie ogres with it and…” The man lowered his voice. “It’s in particular demand by the castle as well. Treason, cowards… you know.”

“I, I thought I was selling to the army.”

“You were, good man. Now that the men are coming home, well… there are scores to settle.” The soldier took the spools of thread. “I will let the lady know I found you, and that you’ll visit when you have another lot to sell.” The soldier handed him a heavy, jingling bag. “We’ll be by for more rope. Necks don’t stretch themselves. Make sure you make enough.” The soldier raised an eyebrow at him, then strode away and was joined by two more. They formed up and marched into the woods on a well-worn path towards a few turrets that peeked out above the tree line in the distance.

He didn’t need to count how much was in the bag. It was a lot. Far more than he expected. Too much to linger for no good reason.

“Let’s go, Bae. We’ve had a good day.” He stabbed his walking stick into the earth and made his way towards home.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Bae?” 

“Why did he say that about men’s necks?”

Rumplestiltskin’s stomach rolled. He would burn in hell for the deal he’d just made. His and his son’s comfort in exchange for the means of execution.

“I don’t know, Bae.” He lied. “I don’t know.”

…

…

Victory was expensive, both in gold and lives. Burial ceremonies for the men of status would take weeks and fill every square inch of sacred ground. Pyres would be maintained day and night for at least as long, to hungrily feast upon the bodies of conscripted peasants and laborers from around the realm. If they were lucky, their mothers and widows would receive a little leather bag stuffed with a mix of ash from the pyres and a few pieces of silver to ease their loss.

Belle watched the heave of the market below, less a place for trade now and more a highway for goods and materials brought back from the front. Some, like the heavy timbers and planks left from the barracks, could be repurposed for housing. The dead, stacked five deep on the carts, were given wide berth as they were directed away from the main roads and towards the columns of smoke in the distance. 

“A glorious sight, Lady Isabelle.” Gaston intoned reverently from above her shoulder. 

Belle searched the view below for something fitting the description. “Glorious, my lord? I see death. I see loss. I see the market that might feed my father’s subjects is now a depot for the spoils of war.”

“The spoils include mounds of gold to rebuild. The clerics also, for the wood will build their monastery and create a great mission to further the praise of he who delivered us our victory.”

Belle blinked. Mentions of religious praise to a deity were not unusual, but they had become more personified of late. The distant smoke billowed in the breeze. “Your gods exact a high price.” 

“He is but one. We need no more.” Gaston closed his fingers tightly over her shoulder and spun her around. One of the maids yelped for her. “You would do well to watch your tongue, Lady.” He pressed his massive body against her, nudging into her. “He does as I bid and he has promised you to me as reward for my benevolence to you and your people.”

With her stays and Gaston pressing into her ribs, Belle had to work for her breath. “I am… payment?” 

“Not you, precisely.” Gaston toyed with her hair idly. “Your father’s lands and holdings. But, my Lady, lands cannot birth me my sons, and blood ties are paramount. You,” He pulled her to his chest by her hair. “You are the key. The inheritance your title carries will position me to challenge King George one day. All you need worry about is,” Gaston looked down the small gap in her bodice. “Your position to me.”

Horror animated her features as comprehension dawned and she started to struggle. Gaston released her before the chaperones corrected him. “Lady, you will accompany me as I survey the last of the men who return from the front. At dawn, I will obtain your complete consent.” Gaston slammed the doors of her chamber-prison open, laughter echoing off the stones of the hall.

The next morning, Belle was awoken by her maids and dressed warmly in between bites of porridge fortified with cream. Winter chill was in the morning air and it threatened to cut her even through the warmest wool layers and cloaks she had. She tucked her hands into a soft muff and kept her hood up.

Guards escorted her from her chamber and delivered her to her father’s waiting arm. Guards and her father escorted her to Gaston’s arm, who secured her there with a hand over hers. It may have looked affectionate from the outside, but his iron grip that locked her in place. 

A new observation balcony had been built at the gates of their modest castle. Before, when there was something to see, she merely walked down the stairs. Now, she was ten or more feet above the ground, surveying the entry to the courtyard, brown, trampled and beyond recognition. Her flowerbeds were gone, and the roses, which would have tolerated even the harshest winters with minimal care, were shredded and twiggy against the far wall.

Gaston, having watched her closely, noted her gaze. “I could not afford to have spots of gaiety when this was coming, my Lady.” He leered at her. “Besides, in time you’ll be too busy to worry about flowers.”

She suppressed a shudder. “What’s coming?”

Gaston smiled as the tall courtyard doors opened. “The cowards.”

Belle watched as a line of men, if they could be called that, were shoved inside the doors. They were chained together, shackled and stumbling. Hooded clerics lined either side of them and, bringing up the rear, a final figure who walked alone. His hood was larger and completely obscured his face, but eyes, strange, deep set eyes caught glints of light that reflected off the plate armor and shields of the soldiers lining the courtyard.

The figure bowed to the balcony. Gaston nodded in return, then he pulled Belle over until she bent in half. “Bow to your people’s guardian, Lady Isabelle.”

Breathless and shocked, she straightened when Gaston allowed. “Who is that?”

“That, dear Lady, is my slave. The Dark One.” Winds began to howl as the line of shackled men below were stripped of their shirts. Gaston’s smile was cruel and harsh. “He ensured our victory. Those you see here did not believe. They ran. Traitors”

“Fear does not make a man a traitor. It makes him afraid.”

Gaston gripped her arm hard enough to bruise. “They defied me whilst in my service. While under my command.” He punctuated his words with tugs to unbalance her. The men were turned to expose their backs to the balcony, one cleric behind each of them, one in front.

The Dark One stood motionless, staring up at them.

“They must be cleansed of their contagion.” Gaston declared. “Made clean and pure. Are you familiar with the study of demons, my Lady?”

Belle was shaking, but not from the cold. She could not tear her eyes away from the horrific scene unfolding. She shook her head.

“Demons hide in the blood, my Lady. They settle in every nook. It must be drawn.” The clerics withdrew their arms from the sleeves of their heavy cloaks, revealing lengths of rope woven together to form a handle with freely swinging ends. Gaston leaned to her ear. “It must be drawn to the surface.” 

Gaston waved his hand and the ropes came down upon the men’s backs with a hollow thump. Red marks immediately formed. Belle’s mouth fell open and she tried to look away, but her betrothed forced her to face forward. Fingers gripped the back of her head and neck and squeezed. “We must draw the poison that weakens them to the surface. Those ropes have already tasted lives, so are the perfect instruments of removal.” 

More blows rained on the men and their backs reddened, deepening to nauseating, swollen purple. Belle cried for the men who, one by one, fell to their knees before the clerics. Her maids had fled to cower behind the balcony, weeping quietly. The Dark one did not move. 

Finally, when the men were motionless wrecks on the mud, Gaston raised his hand again. Belle sobbed in relief, hoping that their punishment had been met and seen worthy.

Then the clerics lifted slim, evil blades. They flashed in the thin winter light.

Gaston, nostrils flaring, caressed the back of her head and forced her forward to watch. “Then, we remove the poison.”

...

Late that night, numb and curled in her bed, Belle’s maids did their bed to tempt her with broth and tea to calm her horror and the heaving that wracked her stomach long after the display was over.

“Miss, please! You must try to eat! Anything!”

“Take it away. Please leave.” When she was left with only her old nursemaid, the woman who had known her long before war came and Belle found herself made into chattel, Belle finally sat up and leaned into the pillows. “There is evil here.”

“War is evil, my Lady. So is the madness it sets in men.”

“No, I mean Gaston. Something evil has taken root in him. It has only grown worse over the course of the year.”

“Aye, Lady. It’s his demon and the power he has over it. A man should never have so much at his command. It breaks him inside. Makes monsters of them.”

“One wonders what is worse.” Belle sighed. “This or ogres.” 

Her gray haired nurse grimaced. “I can see an ogre coming clear as day. This…” She shook her head.

Belle laid back down. “There must be a way. He says he needs my bloodline to claim the Marchlands. That will position him to challenge the King.”

“Politics. That’s your father’s place, not mine. I see that you’re fed, well, pretty and strong.” The old nurse lifted Belle’s face up with a finger under her chin. “If you get ideas in that head, don’t you go telling me your plans. All you have to do is say what you need.”

…

Her gown was rich. The banquet was lavish. Belle could not eat.

The Dark One stared at her throughout the dinner, the announcement, and the dance. He was a silent shadow that moved throughout the room, looming in corners and carrying a cloud of impenetrable cold and dread around him. 

That dread gripped her by the neck as she sat next to Gaston during the dessert course, after the formal announcement of their engagement. The King’s emissary awarded Gaston with chests filled with treasure for the role the Marchlands played in ending the years and years of threat from the Ogres. 

Belle slipped away from Gaston’s grasp when his attention was taken by the mounds of gold that were rightfully her father’s. It was his homeland, his people, and his lands that had been scorched black by war, not Gaston’s. The injustice and futility of it all made her chest constrict tighter despite the boned corset and laces. She needed to breathe air away from the stuffy hall and away from the grasping, cruel monster that she was bound to.

There was one garden that remained. It was tiny and neglected, but a few bushes and beds remained, a few covered with cloths for the night. The walkway was hewn flagstones laid in a pleasing pattern of pink, brown and cream. She could almost make out the colors in the dark, though remembered where each was from games she played as a child.

“Good evening, Lady.”

Belle spun and clutched her skirts. There was no one to be seen. “Where are you? Show yourself or I’ll scream!”

“I wouldn’t want that. Besides, our Lord might take offense.” A form materialized, shadows coalesced into physical shape and walked away from the far wall. “I wanted to congratulate you, Lady, on all your success.”

“You’re… you’re the Dark One, are you not?”

“Indeed. You are Lady Isabelle. Betrothed of my master.” It wasn’t a question, and Belle did not respond with an affirmation. “You are aware, then, that I am a slave to him?”

“He called you such, yes.” Belle released her skirts and stood warily. “As I will be to him as well.”

“Only if you allow it, Lady. It’s all in the blood. That’s all any of them want.”

Belle felt her face and palms grow clammy. Even the word was upsetting now, after the show Gaston forced her to watch. “I am aware of what blood means to Gaston.”

“No, you clearly aren’t.” The solid mass glided along the stones towards her. “Stupid girl, do you want to be captive, brood sow, and whipping post? Think, woman!”

“How dare you. I have no choice.”

“There is always a choice, Lady. It’s your blooded title he’s after. It’s what they’re _all_ after.” The hood slipped a fraction and rotten teeth grinned from a glittering jaw. “He’ll enjoy splitting you apart and breeding you a few times. What happens to you after you spill his sons from your cunt is of no interest to him. He might even enjoy disposing of you. It’s your choice.”

Belle recoiled. She’d heard rough speech, especially lately, but it had never been directed at her person. And the idea of Gaston’s massive body suffocating her… “You speak in vulgarity and riddles. Speak plain or speak none at all.”

“I cannot, Lady.” He spat. “I am his slave! All I can offer is this: Your blooded title is the prize. What avenue is left to remove that prize?”

Belle thought. “And what is in it for you? The Dark One does nothing without payment.”

“Lady,” He giggled. “My payment will come once there is disarray. I will find my reward, and so shall these lands, never you think on it.”

The Dark One retreated back to the wall and dissipated back into the darkened angles and corners of the small garden. Belle pressed a hand to her chest, trying to settle the hard pounding in her chest that threatened to burst forth from her corset.

Blooded title. So much blood. But he said her lands would find reward, and that was enough for her. She had nothing else.  
...


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reconstructed most of what I lost from the flash drives. Rebuilding continuity now. :)

Rumplestiltskin regarded the bag of coin on his rough table. It was a fine sum. Not enough to propel him out of his circumstances, but enough that the next meal was assured for some time. If more was to come after, then he might even be able to reclaim some of his dwindled status.

The possibilities. Bae could select his apprenticeship rather than be forced to learn only from him. They could enter the shops by the front doors rather than handle their business at the rear. He could rent a stall at the market and sell openly, rather than living as a permanent journeyman, selling his wares door to door. 

Or have those awful soldiers knocking at his door. He cursed that his hands always shook when they came for more rope. It would be worse now that he knew what they used it for.

With the end of the war, men returned to the village. They trickled in slowly, limping if they could walk at all or sitting in carts if they could not. A few were dragged back lying in leather hammocks pulled by mules, condemned to be burdens to their already overworked mothers and wives.

Their eyes avoided him at all costs. The women grumbled louder these days, but were glad their men were home, those that had men come home to them. The women that had left, either because they found the strain too much or they had no reasons or children to remain behind for, meant that a few men were available. 

Even a weak man was a man, after all. 

Within weeks, men proudly stepped, limped, or rolled out of their homes and loudly declared themselves married, or referred to the woman by their side as their wife. Quieter men held small events, toasting their joys together over the last drops of wine from the prior season, or merely lived under the same roof long enough for marriage to be assumed. The last stragglers from the front were swiftly visited or invited to stay with the family of a young lady, fearful of spinsterhood. A polite scandal occurred when a childless widow simply invited herself in a man’s home and cooked him dinner. He declared her his wife the next day.

No women came to Rumplestiltskin’s door, or accidentally dropped things in his path as an excuse to chat with him. 

…

The knock on the door startled Bae. Rumplestiltskin had expected it for some days. The big soldier was waiting outside the door along with a small troupe of armed escorts.

“You are the rope and threadmaker?” The helmet made the man’s voice reverberate strangely. It was disquieting.

“Y-yes. We met at the market by the well.”

The soldier laughed. “Oh, yes. The man with the sticky boy. What is your name, spinner? I would not care, except that the lady who wants your thread desires to know the name of her supplier.”

Bae dropped his brushes and the wool he had been carding and before his father could stop him, he cried out. “That’s my papa!” 

“Hush, boy!” Rumplestiltskin desperately tried to push Bae back to work, but the boy was flush with pride and a full belly. “Pardon my son, please.” He held out the wares the men had come for, pleading in his mind that they would simply take it and leave as quickly as possible.

“He is Rumplestiltskin!”

The soldiers, who had been talking amongst themselves behind their commander, fell silent. They filled the doorframe and cast a dark shadow into the shabby home. The commander smirked. “Oh. The runner.” He took the offered coils of rope and spools of thread Rumplestiltskin was holding out and handed the thread to his comrades. He held out the rope, admiring it. “Ironic, isn’t it, Rumplestiltskin? The runner now trades his soul for comfort, while producing the means to rid the earth of his fellow vermin.”

Rumplestiltskin shook, gripping the door. “Please. You have what you came for.”

“Indeed, I do.” The soldier swung his arm and Rumplestiltskin braced himself to be cuffed. Instead, a bag of coin struck the floor, spilling silver and copper across the floor at his son’s feet. “And now you may have one more thing, spinner.” The soldier lowered his voice to a dangerous snarl. “My name. I am Hordor, and were you in my command all those years ago, I would have cleansed your soul of demons myself and hung you from the gates with your own ropes until your body dropped from your neck.” 

Hordor leaned back and casually handed the twists of rope to his men, ignoring the terrified little man. “The ladies of the court will be pleased with the colors, I think. They say even the Queen has used it. We’ll be back in a fortnight for the next lot you have ready.” He leaned by Rumplestilskin’s ear again. “It’s nice to see that your son is brave. What a pity that the ogres are gone. He might have made a good fighter. Maybe he still will.” Hordor laughed and left, slapping his men on the back and trampling over the last garden onions wrapped in grasses on the front stoop.

The cold wind fought the door and Rumplestiltskin had to throw his meagre weight against it to shut it. He leaned into it, barred it, and panted as he dropped his walking stick, slipping to the floor.

“Papa? Papa, look! There’s silvers in the bag! Can I have a copper for some honey bread?” Bae set himself to gathering up the coins and brought the bag to his father. 

Rumplestiltskin dropped the bag as if it were cursed, and stayed with his back against the door until Bae had finished brushing the wool for his night’s spinning. Feeling ashamed for being the man he was and wasting time while Bae worked, Rumplestiltskin braced his weight and rose, started their evening meal, and settled himself at the wheel. He spun deep into the night, letting the wheel’s soft scrapes and thumps calm his mind even as he dug his hole deeper. 

…

Weeks passed, and while Rumplestiltskin no longer had to skip as many meals, he still found himself strained to finish work every day. With Bae’s help, he managed to prepare a section of the garden for winter, and repaired the worst of the holes in their walls and roof that allowed winter drafts to chill them or even wreck their fire overnight. Bae was strong enough now at nearly seven to gather and carry the ash from the fire to the local pit, but once one small chore was released from his day, ten took its place.

Work around their home kept him tied close to the house for the day, and he would only venture away for minutes at a time, knowing that Bae was still young and prone to foolishness. In return for cooking twine, a neighbor would watch him from time to time, but it was not the same. And he still had to manage all the household business, tend Bae and his clothes, most of the laundering, cooking and cleaning in addition to his work at the wheel and rope twist.

If he worked himself to the bone, they would survive, but little else. There were not enough hours in the day. There never would be.

…

...

Gaston’s appetites grew daily, even as his face hollowed and became crueler. He was obsessed with his pet clergy and the overlord he placed with them. His slave, the Dark One, was ever present now, sometimes accompanying him as he visited Belle.

Every time, Belle felt the demon’s gaze fixed on her.

Her betrothed waved down at the street below her chamber. “Lady Isabelle, do you see how your beloved market returns? I have brought back merchants and wares. Your town prospers again.” Gaston smugly pressed himself to her back, fetid breath from too much wine and rich food soured the air she breathed.

“But they sell only goods from other lands. Is there nothing from the village for sale?” Her father’s subjects had suffered so much, and now their livelihoods are stolen by this madman.

“No, this finery can only be found far away. My army has moved on to find treasure to adorn your dirty walls.” He palmed her through her gown, unseen by her maids and the chaperones. “In less than a month, Lady, we shall be wed. Then…” He gripped her side. “Then you’ll be mine.”

With a final squeeze, he released her and walked to the door. The guards, escorts, and chaperones filed out behind him. 

The Dark One left last and murmured softly, for her hears only. “Blood ties.”

…

The day before a noble wedding meant preparations. Servants whirled to finish decorations, cleaning, hanging the finest tapestries, and repairing or disguising the evidence of more than a year of neglect due to war, privation, and abuse. 

The morning was for the public viewing of the engaged couple, so Belle was draped in the finest silks and laces in the kingdom. Her hair was washed and carefully set in ringlets piled upon her head and caged by a magnificent diadem more befitting a queen than a the noble born daughter of small principality. The balcony that overlooked the courtyard, freshly covered with new sawdust to hide the bloodstains, was warmed by braziers and protected from the intermittent snows by a gauzy tent. Flowers made from folded silks were set in crystal vases that sparkled in the dimmest light, making a breathtaking contrast of winter and spring, muted white and warm color.

Belle ate nothing. Her old nurse fretted, but understood. “You’ll tell me, won’t you? If you need anything?”

Belle nodded, the slight motion setting the tiny sprays of gems on her head twinkling.

“You look like a queen, my Lady.” The old woman set a curl back into place.

“He means me to be a queen. Though I think he wants to be king far more.” Belle refolded her hands, trying not to disturb all of her maid’s hard work. “I’m not really sure what he wants now. Not anymore.” 

The nurse gently patted Belle’s hair and held her hands. “Men like him… well, men like him are why there are women like you.”

Belle felt her spine brace. What happened to her was immaterial. The fate of too many was at stake.

…

More people than she expected were in attendance in the courtyard. It was clear, however, by the ring of clerics and armed soldiers, that the local populace had been forced to appear despite the chill and snow.

“People of the Marchlands!” Gaston announced. “On the morrow, you become members of the greatest kingdom in the realm! The peace you paid for with your blood, your fields, and your homes will be repaid manifold by your King and the allies he brings. New trade routes have been carved between your towns and villages and towns to these larger territories.”

Behind and off to the side, Belle watched as Gaston spoke to the crowded courtyard. The words were right and the look was right, but she knew the core was rotten. Clerics grinned up at the balcony. The Dark One watched from behind, never taking his strange eyes off her. Gaston went nowhere without his demon, and the demon never failed to whisper his little reminders in her ear.

_It’s your blood he’s after in every sense, Lady. What recourse have you but one?_

“And so, residents of Avonlea and the surrounding lands, I present your Lady, my betrothed, The Lady Isabelle!” Gaston reached behind him without looking and pulled her forward by her wrist, jostling her delicate curls and rustling the gown. 

Gaston knelt before her, a mockery of affection and humility. “Lady, will you have me as your own, a leader to your lands, beacon to your people, father to your children, and as your Lord?” 

Belle’s insides clenched. For a moment, he was dripping in the fetid blood of frightened men. She blinked, and his suit of white and blue returned. “Why?”

Gaston’s pleasant features twisted. “Why, what?” He froze his false smile, pretending patience. 

“Why should I? You’ve shown me nothing but brutality, my people despair despite promises of prosperity, and you bring them.” She pointed at the clerics. “Why must your soldiers be armed when they stand behind my countrymen except to threaten them?”

Gaston stood and loomed over her. “Did you expect me to be your fawning lover? Did you think me a patron of your beauty?” He sneered. “Did you think I would turn into a pup over you for love?”

“No. I never expected love or your affection. And I could live without kindness if you were fair, but you aren’t.”

Gaston yanked her by the arm and the crowd gasped. “Are you suggesting that you might refuse me?” Belle’s voice caught, unable to answer. “Because I have an alternative for you.” He pulled her to the edge of the balcony and called forth a group of clerics. “You may refuse my suit, keeping your status and residence in Avonlea if,” the clerics looked up. “If you serve as a maidservant to our good clerics.”

Cries of dismay rose from the crowd. Belle knew why. Her maids had freedom to associate with soldiers and often told bawdy tales of their conquests and the pleasure to be had in their beds or anywhere else that was convenient and suited their purpose. But they never spoke of those that went to the clerics. Their slaves had no rights to their person and might spend their days endlessly scrubbing the same floor or, so the maids whispered, used in unspeakable ways. Ways these worldly women did not speak of, even in hushed tones.

Belle would be the center of attention in their cloister for the rest of her truncated life.

“But first, of course,” Gaston licked her ear. “Your soul would require cleansing.” A man in the crowd vomited. Belle turned her head a degree and caught the Dark One staring. 

The hood moved in a nod. 

“And if I abdicate my title?” The Dark One raised his head, flashes of his ruined teeth grinned at her.

Gaston laughed. It was a high pitched, nervous sound. “Do you really think you could survive without being fed and watered, Lady? Can you even dress yourself?” 

“It would be worth it.”

“Just to avoid my bed? I could make you a queen.” Gaston’s eyes wandered to her bodice again.

“What is a queen if her people are enslaved?” 

Gaston’s silence was her answer. “You would have to make it permanent, Lady. No chance of coming back, no glorious return of the conquering savior.” The clerics were stepping forward. “You would live in dirt and never be worthy of my bed or my boot.” His hold bruised her, his breath sickened her, but his words were laced with the desperation she wanted to hear. His eyes were no longer on her, but fixed upon the Dark One, who had advanced to within a few feet of them.

“Then, hear me now, people of Avonlea!” She shouted as loud as she could, deep breaths burning her throat with the crisp, cold air. “I hereby abdicate my position, my title, and all blood claims to this castle and the lands around it! I will not rule as Gaston’s wife and subject you to him. I hereby release you all from my service!”

The Dark One cackled as Gaston screamed. In the resulting melee, Belle broke free and ran to her chambers, a few maids and her old nurse hard on her heels. When she reached her chamber, she slammed open her closet doors and began throwing the contents onto every flat surface, sorting through it all.

“Lady, please!” Her maids pleaded. “Let us be of help.”

“You are under no such requirement. I am less than you now.”

The old nurse held her shoulders from behind and stilled her thrashing. “Dear child. We know what needs to be done. Let us serve you one last time before you do this thing. What can we do?”

Belle glanced up. “Prepare the warmest and plainest clothes you can find. A few changes of undergarments. A good warm cloak with no adornment. A strong satchel with three days travel food, and two bags of coin, copper and silver only. No gold.”

The old woman’s eyes watered. “Yes, my Lady. I’ll sew more into the bodices. Lottie, fetch me the sewing kit. Mabel, prepare a travel bag for the lady. Verna, tell a stable lad to ready the plainest horse we have that can walk a long way. Give him ten gold pieces if he can have it done and by the side gate before the Lady is ready. Then get back here and help her dress.”

With tears streaming down her face, Belle threw her arms around her nurse, the closest thing to a mother the young woman had ever known. “I’m not a lady anymore. I’m just a woman.”

“Yes, you are. And what a fine woman you are, too.” 

…

Belle shuffled as quickly as she was able under the weight of her travel bag, and despite her low heeled travel boots, she tripped and fell in the hallway. Painfully sprawled on the stone, she felt pressure in the small of her back press her down. She looked over her shoulder.

“Did you really think you’d get away so easily?” Gaston’s face was bruised and bloody. “Your trick lost me my slave! Now the Dark One is loose!” His boot pressed harder.

Belle struggled for breath, scrambling with her arms to try to roll or shift away. “Freed slaves are usually not so forgiving as to release their former masters.”

Gaston laughed, ugly and tortured breaths leaving a trail of blood at his mouth. “You think me released?” Blood frothed at his lip. “I am cursed. He has marked me and will find me later. Until then, I am his toy. But you,” Gaston cackled. “You are marked as well. My clerics sought this land as a mission. They went so far as to ally with the Dark One to obtain it, and now you have cost them their prize.”

Belle managed to roll over and struck as hard as she could. Her blow landed and knocked Gaston off and into a suit of armor. Plate clattered loudly along the stones and bashed Gaston to the floor.

“Run, you bitch!” He called after her as she ran. “Run as far as you can, for once the Dark One is done with my army, the clerics will come for you! They will enjoy the chase! What a prize you’ll make!” 

Hitching up her travel bag and holding her heavy wool skirts, Belle made her way to the far door leading to the hidden side of the castle.

Gaston gasped wetly, and screamed at her. “You’re weak! You’ll never be able to walk away from this life. You’ll come limping back and they’ll sit your naked, whipped body on the throne, slag!” 

Belle covered her ears from the abuse and yanked the heavy wooden side door open. She took the horse and mounted, fleeing without knowing whether the Dark One kept his word or not. If he did, then her father and his subjects, her friends and relations would all be safe. Hooves pounded the path to the woods, jarring her teeth and keeping her on her heels until the castle was out of sight.

It was dark magic- the darkest- that kept a demon in thrall while twisting the master into a monster. She knew it was true, that the clerics would use her for their own means, that they had been part of the plan to take Avonlea and thus challenge the king. 

Belle gasped and pulled the reins to halt the horse. 

It was not Gaston. It was never Gaston. It was the clerics all along. They’d enslaved Gaston’s mind until he had the Dark One in his power. They had used the Ogre War as cause for expanding their territory, gobbling up small principalities under different flags and bloodlines so no one could have possibly noticed.

For who notices the silent men in their hoods who offer bread with one hand and a lash in the other? She vomited, gagging on bile until it splattered the reeds by the river.

Avonlea was the last jewel in their coveted crown. With it they could bottle up King George and starve his lands until, savior-like, the clerics were called to offer relief. If they got Avonlea, they would ride their donkeys right into the throne room.

If they got Avonlea. She was the only blooded heir. With her, the line stopped. 

Belle slipped off the frothy horse and knelt by the river to rinse out her mouth. “Oh, Gaston, you stupid fool.”


	5. Chapter 5

Rumplestiltskin waited. A fortnight had passed, but no soldiers came to his door for rope. The money from the last few transactions would last for some time, but regular money was something he found he became accustomed to and appreciated, even if the only things he could get were immediate product only. No one in town was willing to do his domestic work. Not even the young girls who needed the work to help their mothers. The older women forbade them, and Rumplestiltskin was left scrubbing his thin clothes on the river rocks downstream.

He and Bae had to stay far away from where the women worked, for they hitched their skirts up high over their legs and to stray too close was to risk a beating from an angry husband or brother.

Or the women themselves. Too much work and not enough hands made them strong and very intolerant of him.

In order to not risk Bae’s standing with the rest of the village, Rumplestiltskin did the work himself, sluicing water over his rough fabric long after the women had left the stream. If he thought ahead carefully, by the time he was home there would be a bubbling pot of vegetables and meat ready for supper.

The tavern sold him day old bread. It was harder, but soaked up gravy fine. Bae was learning to dress the rabbits they snared as well as the pheasants he was bringing home with his sling. With so much food, Bae was growing like a weed, and a portion of money was set aside to purchase clothes with extra room hidden in the seams for growth. But they could not all be purchased in their village.

They would have to venture to the market again.

“Papa, can we get sweets again?”

“Maybe, Bae. If we can sell the rope and the good thread, then we can, but I’m not sure there will be a buyer.”

Bae carefully pulled handfuls of softened hemp strands free and handed them to Rumplestiltskin. “Where have the soldiers gone? They have not come for rope.”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure I care. If I can sell the thread at a good price, then I don’t need to sell the rope, too.”

“They said it was the finest rope in all the land.”

Rumplestiltskin winced and separated a loosened clump of fibers. “Being the best is not always good, Bae. Sometimes you are better served if you don’t attract attention.”

“If you didn’t attract attention, you wouldn’t have sold your thread. What colors will you make this week?”

He shrugged as he twisted the hemp. “I have a bit more red left, but that is running out. I may be able to get more indigo at the market, but I think all I have left here is the yellow and brown dyes.”

Bae nodded solemnly. “Those are good colors, Papa. Maybe they will weave farms into their tapestries. We could always use more crops.”

Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Yes, we could.” 

He hated making the rope. The fibers were wet but coarse and they dried his hands terribly. It didn’t take long for the stiffer fibers to begin cutting him here and there. Tiny cracks and fissures in his skin oozed blood into the twists, which was fitting in a terrible way. He had blood on his hands, his own and that of whoever would die on his rope. He treated his hands with raw wool, and while it helped, it didn’t stop the stinging and scraping of the fibers against his raw hands.

That night, after his hands stopped bleeding, he spun his delicate threads, dreaming of rich farmlands, productive gardens, and piles of sweet garden peas and carrots. His fingers guided the long wool fibers through the turns and kept the pressure consistent, rocking his foot on the pedal in time to his imaginary harvest, turning soil and holding up candy-sweet melons for Bae to enjoy.

For a brief moment, he imagined the hem of a skirt brushing his arm, cool hands handing him a cup. He started, eyes snapping wide. Bae, by the fire combing the next batch of wool, did not notice the minute pause in the tempo.

…

The market was quiet and cold. Winter crops were few and consisted mostly of hard squashes and nuts, a few salvaged potatoes and the last heavy chestnuts. They would roast the chestnuts when they got home and set a squash in the hearth tomorrow.

While Rumplestiltskin wanted to just find the tailor they had met the first time and sell his spools, Bae tugged the arm of a guard and asked if he and his Papa could be directed to the merchant’s entrance to the castle.

“Please, don’t mind the boy. We’re just moving on.” 

“Wait, Papa!” Bae bobbed a thank you to the guard and ran to Rumplestiltskin. “They said the trade gate is over here.” The boy gripped his sleeve and pulled him to a rough door with heavy hinges. As Bae raised his arm to knock, a man left carrying a massive rack of hats and gloves.

A heavy armed woman pushed the haberdasher out. “Next.” 

Rumplestiltskin stood dumbly.

The woman glared. “Next!”

“Papa, she means us!” Bae shoved his father forward. 

The woman looked him over, unimpressed. “Trade.” She barked.

“Spinner.”

She looked at his clothes doubtfully. “What you got?”

Wiggling with excitement, Bae hopped forward and shoved a spool of yellow into the woman’s hands. “We make the thread the lady likes!” Bae grinned. “We also make rope, but Papa doesn’t like it as much.”

Rumplestiltskin gasped and the woman raised an eyebrow at him. “Sorry, the boy is just excited.”

The woman unraveled a few loops from the spool and nodded. “I’ve made rope, boy. I can’t say I like it much either.” She held the strand and ran her thumb along it. “Alright. Come in, and don’t touch anything. I’ll have the lady’s maid come and check this. Elsa!” A little girl popped into view as they were allowed in.

The woman sent the girl on her errand and Bae and Rumplestiltskin were allowed to sit at a table in an alcove by the kitchen and given tea and some warm rolls with trimmings from roasts. They ate, devouring bread that was rich with drippings and cleaned their hands carefully afterwards.

A fine lady’s maid entered the alcove. “Are you the thread maker?” 

Rumplestiltskin jumped to his feet, stumbling a bit and leaning heavily on his cane. “Yes, Miss.”

“My Lady is pleased with your wares. Do you have more to sell today?”

“Yes, Miss.” Rumplestiltskin opened the bag and lifted out the dozen spools he’d brought. “I’m sorry, but these are the only colors I have.”

“My Lady would like more colors. As such we will supply you with a selection of dyes. The leather tanner can arrange the necessary delivery.” The maid held up a spool of light brown. “Though I admit, I’ve never noticed such luster in simple thread before. It would be a shame to hide with strong dye. Will you come and make deliveries from now on?”

“If… That is if…” Bae nudged him. “Yes, Miss.”

“Excellent.” The maid whispered to the woman who had let them in, then turned to leave. She stopped before reaching the stairs leading back to the formal part of the castle. “Spinner, the men who last delivered your thread said they knew your name but we did not allow them entry to our quarters and so did not hear it. Would you like to be referred to by your name, or do you prefer to remain Spinner?”

Before Bae could blurt out anything, Rumplestiltskin stopped him. “I should like to remain merely Spinner, Miss.”

“As you wish, Spinner. We look forward to your next delivery.”

“Yes, Miss. Thank you.” 

“Till then, Spinner.” Rumplestiltskin bowed as she left. 

“Her Ladyship must like your thread, Spinner.” A small bag of coin was shoved into his hand and he was gently but firmly pushed to the door. “Good show, boy.” The woman patted Bae on the head and handed him a slice of seed cake. “There’s for your belly. I heard you growling. Now off with you, both.” 

They stepped out the door and pushed their way past a line that had formed while they were inside. The woman’s voice carried down the narrow stone passage. “Next!”

…

…

The map the stable boy had shoved under the harness was old and faded, but Belle remembered some of the route. The neighboring provinces were frequented by King George enough to be a strategic move for her, as opposed to storming up to his door and demanding help. If she was going to protect her homeland and her father’s people, then she had find a way to neutralize the threat she presented to King George. The man was far from being a kind and benevolent ruler, but he was no simple despot. 

It was several days of hard riding from the castle at Avonlea to the border, and several more to the string of smaller manor castles the King visited or vacationed at, all of them home to the local dukes, barons, and specially favored knights. Belle could remember galas from her very early years, when she was expected to marry young to align Avonlea with a convenient house in George’s favor. 

The sound of her horse’s hooves suddenly shifted from mushy thumps to clops. Belle pulled the reins and saw the start of a packed road. It was too new and the drainage was too good to be a path used by peasants. She backed the horse away, and guided him towards the darker parts of the woods. Her chances were best if she avoided the attention of any soldiers, and if they still travelled with clerics, she certainly needed to be careful.

What a disappointment she’d been to her father’s advisors, but Belle knew that her father was proud if bewildered by his headstrong daughter. The loss of her mother had obviously damaged him, and she could not help noticing his misted eyes when he watched her go about their family quarters, arranging for the meals and organizing his travel schedule. It was only when she wanted to branch out and tried to learn the politics of the realm at his knee that he drew the line. She was to remain a domestic fixture, never to venture out into the world. 

Now she was riding through foreign woods without escorts or guards, fleeing for her life, skirts bunched and wearing the garb of a servant. The sun was sinking fast and the horse’s breaths sent swirls of fog curling by her knees. She passed by the first two clearings she came upon and selected one that was well hidden by drooping conifers and a few large boulders. 

“Come on, you. Let’s dig up something for your dinner.” Belle scratched the thin sheet of snow away with her boot and revealed a patch of brown but dense grasses. The horse gave a disgruntled snort, but began to eat as Belle clumsily removed the saddle, careful not to inflict sores on her mount. Belle started a fire and softened bites of travel bread in water until she could chew them. When the boulders were warmed, she laid alongside the exhausted horse and slept more deeply on the hard ground than she ever had on her feather bed.

…

Water. Her face was wet. Was her maid washing her face before she rose again? Belle started when she felt drips.

The fire was still embers and their warmth was causing the icicles to drip on her. The horse was up and nosing the seed heads and winter ryes exposed by the miniature thaw. 

“Well, my friend, we cannot stay. I don’t suppose you can help me get the saddle back on, hmm?”

The horse nickered and chewed, not moving away as Belle tossed the blanket over his back. “Well, that’s a promising start.” After a few attempts, it was clear Belle was not strong enough to left the saddle over his back from the ground, so she climbed onto the rocks and settled it on the blanket. Once the buckle was set and the fire out, she packed her bag and climbed on his back with the help of the rocks.

She winced when she sat. “Well, at least one of us won’t have saddle sores.” She unfolded the map and consulted the sky. “If the sun is there, then we need to go towards those mountains. Ready?” She brushed her hand through the rough mane. “Me neither.” She dug in her heels and flipped the reins. “Yah!”

…

The Frontlands were vast. Unlike the Marchlands- bound by the sea on one side, another province marked by a river on another and full of rolling hills that grew the finest fruit trees, grain and cotton in the realm- it was seemingly endless, rocky and harsh. There were still rich farmlands, but they dotted the land instead of defining it. It was impressive and rich in its own way, filled with minerals, precious metals, rocky terrain favored by sheep and goats, and enough villages that one could never call it desolate. 

It was just the kind of kingdom Belle would chose were she a king. And if she were that king, she would covet Avonlea for its seaports and river. 

If her map was reasonably accurate, she had another two days to ride to find the outer ring of estates, castles and villages she would need to regroup and plan her next move. She kept to the trees and brushy places as carefully as she could. A pawn she may be, but she would not rush forward stupidly.

…

The sun was high and Belle began to notice changes in the flora of the forest. Trees were slimmer and more spindly to allow heavy loads of snow to slide off harmlessly rather than snap the branches. There was less undergrowth, and therefore less cover, so she kept further away from the road. Once, she heard a series of wagons and threw herself from the saddle to the ground, letting the horse stand for its dull brown color was unlikely to attract attention. Men’s voices carried in the open air. They were men heading home from war, looking forward to wives and mothers, hearth and home. 

The clerics brought up the rear. She could tell by the change in sounds. The voices faded away but wagon wheels kept moving, punctuated by the occasional bray of their donkeys.

Belle breathed in relief as the wagons continued on and faded into the distance. “Well, looks like we were missed.” Her heart still pounding with the last waves of fear, she began to feel the results of her rash dive to the ground. She would be bruised from hip to shoulder on the side she’d fallen on. 

“If riding didn’t hurt before, my friend, it certainly will now.” She gripped the saddle and braced a foot on a tree limb to climb up. The first few steps hurt, and after that it was a constant radiating ache.

The night was colder, but the fire warmed underside of the rocky outcrop she’d found. There were more old sheep droppings than remains of previous fires, so she hoped no shepherds would decide to visit for the night.

By mid-morning on the fifth day, the horse slowed to a walk. By mid-day he stopped walking and tossed his head.

“What’s the matter?” Belle grunted as she dismounted and checked for cuts or dragged snares, but saw none. She sighed. “So, are you going to let me look at your feet?” She gently pushed a shoulder into one flank and the horse obediently lifted a hoof. “That one looks fine. Let’s check the rest.” Belle talked and reassured her mount, who did as he was trained to do until she reached the third hoof.

“Oh, no. No, no.” A sharp rock was embedded in the swollen footpad. It was angry and red and would slow them down horribly. Slowing down meant more nights in the cold, more days exposed in the open, and it likely meant Belle would be walking all day.

“All right, my friend. You’re going to have to trust me.” She patted the horse’s side and tapped his foot. “I’m going to get that out, and you have to promise not to kick me. Got it?” She pushed against his side and in the moment he was off balance, Belle squeezed her fingers and plucked the rock out of his hoof. With a startled wail, the horse reared up and knocked her over onto her bruised side.

“Oof. I suppose I earned that. Well, do you think you can carry my bag and walk? You made it pretty clear that you won’t carry me.” With the bag still strapped to the saddle, Belle gave the reins a light tug. Reluctantly, the horse followed, limping slightly on the sore hoof until Belle found a place to camp before nightfall.


	6. Chapter 6

Rumplestiltskin stopped the wheel. Hooves and a creaking wagon were slowing, and when they came to a halt outside, he sighed and stood from his work.

“Bae, fetch the finished rope and stay out of sight.” The boy dragged a heavy bag from the corner and stayed behind the flimsy partition towards the rear of the house.

The knocking was loud and impatient. Rumplestiltskin unbarred the door and opened it just enough to speak, for the winds were cold and blowing snow. “Yes?”

The soldier, Hordor had returned. “Budge, Spinner. It’s deadly cold.” The big man pushed his way into the house and lowered his heavy hood. He looked around and smirked at the bare walls, pallet, and single cookpot on the hob. “Well, I do hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

“No, no. You’ve come for rope?”

“Of course I’ve come for rope. I’ve run out, if you catch my meaning. I would’ve been here last week, but I’ve had trouble in the Marchlands. Lost an entire battalion to some… evil.”

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. “The Ogres?”

Hordor spat on the floor. “No, though that would set you shaking, wouldn’t it? The King’s man, Sir Gaston, had the Dark One’s dagger and was using him to finish the war. Too bad his little fiancée backed out at the last minute and let the Dark One get his dagger back in the melee that followed. Hurry up. Where’s the rope, man?”

A length of rope was lifted from the bag and inspected. “This looks well enough. So there’s a pack of refugees from Avonlea streaming out, and a pack of folk that stayed. I guess it just depended on whether you thought the old duke was aligned with the Dark One or not. Not sure I like those clerics either.” He snorted and scraped the slush and mud  
from his boots onto the floor in wet clumps.

“If that’s all? I need to make more rope now.”

Once again, the bag of coin was flung onto the floor. “Oh, and did I tell you that while I was in Avonlea, I had occasion to visit the ports? Fine ships there, fast ships. The fastest had a rough type for a captain. Said he knew you.” Hordor made an ugly, smug face. “Killian Jones says to send your son his best. His bride is swollen with child and refused to speak your name.”

Every sinew in Rumplestiltskin’s body softened. He stooped.

“They do that, you know. Women hate to be reminded of the men that can’t keep them. They refuse to recognize them, and hate to speak their names.” Hordor leaned over, whispering cruelly into Rumplestiltskin’s ear. “You know what they hate the most? I bet you do. Cowards.” The voice became a hot hiss. “They hate to be married to cowards.”  
Hordor swept out, flinging the door wide and letting a blast of blowing snow and cold into the house. “You’re a coward, Rumplestiltskin!” He called from atop his horse. “You couldn’t fight for your homeland, and you wouldn’t fight for your woman!”

…

The fire was banked for the night and Rumplestiltskin sat awake, his gaze trained on the glowing embers, eyelids stinging from the hour and his unblinking stares.  
He was a coward. The words repeated like a rolling litany off his tongue behind his closed lips. He knew it as sure as he knew his trade, his hands, or his son. He’d run home from war, abandoning his post, from the fear of leaving his newborn son fatherless. Other children were fatherless, what made him special?

Then there was Milah. In protecting his son and setting her free, he was labeled not only the deserter but a coward who lost his wife, his child’s mother. To a pirate, no less. He couldn’t blame her for leaving, but he could never forgive it. Not for how it battered his own life, but for how it left Bae with less status and comfort than his friends. A woman at home meant stability and the ability for the father to work more hours at his trade and maintaining his home, rather than washing clothes and digging out potatoes. 

No matter what he did, Rumplestiltskin would never get ahead. There was always something nipping at his heels. They were better fed these days, but he could still get no domestic help, and the cluster of people by the wells or village square would scatter once they saw him approaching. The shop keepers took his money and gave him goods, but there was no idle chatter, no friendly banter over soap or salt pork.

He was invisible. 

And Bae was preparing all the furs from the rabbits they snared on his own, no doubt with an eye on carving his own sleeping space in their home. Rumplestiltskin would not stop him, but he would cherish ever last memory he had of small hands reaching for him in sleep, dreamy sighs in the small hours, and even the feet that never failed to kick him in whatever soft spot was most exposed.

After years of isolation and two years of being completely alone but for Bae, his soft spots were feeling more exposed than ever. Not even a quarter into the harsh winter of the Frontlands and he was already feeling the walls pressing on him. 

The frustration might have been good for a better man. In his hands it was nothing but a waste of his precious energy. 

A glance at Bae showed him to be sleeping peacefully, burrowed deep under the sheet and extra covers Rumplestiltskin had brought down from the loft upstairs. The bed up there was long unused but impossible to remove, so he’d never tried to sell it. There was no need now, but it sat as a reminder, on the rare days he had need to go up there, of all the nights it sat lonely and unoccupied. 

When Bae finished his own bedding, Rumplestiltskin resigned himself to returning upstairs, leaving the warmer downstairs to his son. For now, however, he needed sleep if he was going to work, cook, clean, and care for Bae the next day. After washing and putting up the last few scattered tools, Rumplestiltskin scooted under the covers with his son, shoving him over just enough to make room for himself and slept fitfully, dreaming things he could not name the next morning.

…

…

Belle limped on, cursing her weakness and soft feet with every step. The bruises were deeper than she’d realized and today they seemed to penetrate to her very joints. Every time she felt the temptation to lay down and rest, her vision clouded over with the row of men forced to kneel before the clerics. That could not be allowed to happen. If they did not capture her and make her their means to a blood claim, then it would be another principality, another foolish fop they cajoled and flattered into thinking he could be king. She would make the sacrifice and save the realm from the silent hooded men with their scourges.

But it was so cold. And she was so tired. Each night had been worse than the last and she’d felt the ground more sharply with her bruises and cuts. Even her modest and heavy dress was showing damage, despite being so well made. The coins sewn into the seams and bodice made it stiffer and heavier than it would have been, too.

She tugged gently on the reins. “C’mon. We can’t be that far. I saw the stone pillars from the map, so we must be getting close. I’ll have you in a proper stable as soon as I can, I promise.”

The hills mocked them. Had they both been well and out for a joy ride, the inclines would have been little challenges and the downhill a frenzy of gallops and bumps. Now the ups were just work and the downs made the aches worse.

The wind was harsher at the top of the hill. The few trees hardy enough to live here, roots exposed and spilling out of cracks in the rocks, were bent with it, their limbs pointing towards the valley still hidden by the crest of the hill. 

“Just a few more feet.” Belle prepared herself as she trudged. Would it be a smattering of pathetic huts clustered around a single barn? Or would it be a thriving township with a manor house for a county seat? Whatever it was, it would have to do for some time until the horse, and she, could walk again. 

They neared the crest. As they did, Belle’s heart lightened when she noticed streams of smoke from chimneys rising until they were obliterated by the winds above. Nestled below, protected in the valley from the worst of the winds, sat several dozen houses surrounded by heavier woods and brush, ringed with garden plots frosted with blowing snow and a few modest stables. There was even a paved central square, but no manor or army outpost. And no monastery.

“Oh, it’s perfect!” Belle cried, and tried to pull the reins harder. The horse snuffed and tossed his head against her grip. “No, I suppose not.” She slackened her hold. “It wouldn’t do to get hurt on the way down and freeze to death.” Belle’s gaze hardened and she set her jaw. “No, not when home is overrun by those… those devils.” Her steps were deliberate as she picked her way gingerly to an unstable path that led down the hills to the village. 

Belle ignored the pain in her blistered and bruised feet, the bone-deep ache from shoulder to hip, and the cold that numbed her into clumsiness and walked.

…

Past the point of hunger, pain, and cold and on the verge of collapsing, Belle dragged herself to the nearest stable and pushed a silver coin into the hand of the groom. The lad, quickly settling the exhausted horse and seeing that the lady was in just as bad shape, took her around front to the entrance of the tavern.

“Granny! Look! We got a traveler in what just paid a silver! She’s cold. Are you hungry, Miss?” He steered her away from the noisy tavern and towards a kitchen.

Belle nodded and took the cup that was being shoved into her hands. She drank the watered mead in greedy gulps and had to gasp to catch her breath. 

“Ruby! Fetch the girl a plate and make up the room. We’ve got a tenant.” And old woman sat on a stool in front of Belle and squinted at her. “What are you doing out there, girl? In another few hours you would have been wolf bait.”

Belle had worked out her lie, so it flowed easily from her lips. “I’m travelling to King George’s castle, and am to be a maid to one of the ladies.” She caught her breath. “I’ll just be here a few days. When the weather is warmer I can move along.”

Granny and a raven-haired girl with a plate threw their heads back with laughter. “When it warms up? Miss, that’s not like to happen for months. Winter is just upon us! In a fortnight there’ll be snow up to the hip and no one can travel but by sled or along the few roads that connect the King’s favorite estates.”

“Ah.” Belle mused. “The King’s roads.”

Ruby brought a fork and a pitcher of water. “The road to Longbourne is sometimes cleared because he visits the castle there.” Ruby plonked down next to Belle. “Your room’ll be near mine. My name’s Ruby and this here is my Granny.” A loud crash from the tavern sent Ruby flying out of her seat as Belle took her first bite of warm food in nearly two weeks.. 

Granny walked around the table and pulled a heavy pie from the stove. “I can tell a liar, child. No need lying to me.”

Belle stood, ready to run, but the pain and Granny’s hands stopped her. “Now, now. I didn’t mean to upset you, but if you’ve come travelling to find a husband, you couldn’t have picked a worse town.” Granny slid a platter of risen dough into the oven. “They were all sent to war, and only half came back. Those that had wives to come home to were snatched back up, those that didn’t soon were. You don’t look like trouble, but if you mind yourself, we’ll not sell you out.”

A swallow cleared her mouth. “I’m just a maid.”

Granny looked her over doubtfully, but shrugged. “Know numbers? Letters?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I need help. Ruby’s a sweet girl, but has no head for figures and there’s the King’s tax to be paid.”

Belle frowned. “Well…”

“No one would begrudge you the ability to feed yourself while you were stranded. Not even the King.” Granny winked as she flipped a towel from the bar above her head. “A silver will only buy a week's room and board. What about the rest of winter?” 

It could only protect her, Belle imagined, to stay in this little village. With her feet in shreds and her horse lame, she was staying put anyway. She would need to live very quietly, and working in a tavern was no way to stay unseen.

“I cannot be seen. It cannot be heard at the castle that I was a tavern girl.” Belle ventured. “I would never be allowed to serve ladies in their chambers again.”

Granny sloshed water onto her apron as she scrubbed platters. “Well, it’s a shame to waste your pretty face in the kitchen, but I understand. Ruby there needs to catch a man, and it’s not going to happen if she’s fetching and carrying and back here with me. If you like, you can join my kitchen maids and split the work to free Ruby to handle the tavern. Many hands make light work, so we probably won’t need you all the time.”

“But, that can’t possibly be enough to pay for the horse as well?”

With a grin, Granny set a basin down in front of Belle and poured hot water into it. “Room with Ruby and you can keep your horse in the stable. You can’t walk from here to the castle on your own, and no matter who you are, I’ve no doubt you have some business there. What kind is your own affair.” A handful of salts went into the basin. “Now, strip off your boots and stockings, girl. You can’t fetch buckets of water with ruined feet.”


	7. Chapter 7

It took more than a week for her feet and bruises to heal, and as they did Belle learned how to scrub, scour, knead, and wash to Granny’s standards. The other maids were younger than she, mostly village girls who were the eldest daughters from homes with no father. They taught her to cook.

It was as Granny said, many families were led by women now. They scraped out a thin existence but were full of pride by their shared sacrifice. The remaining men undertook extra work, repairing homes and maintaining the village as a way of honoring the memory of their fallen friends. Many structures that had been businesses, like the small granary, were now run communally. It would likely take more than a generation to correct the losses. 

The Ogre wars had demanded blood sacrifice of the experienced as well as the naïve, and it dug especially deep into villages like this one. Belle wondered if any of the men had passed through Avonlea’s hospitals. Or pyres.

She’d kept an eye on the tavern door and seen only locals, a few soldiers, and a rare traveler. The clerics seemed not to favor the town, or at least not the tavern. Belle had never gone out while she was healing, and only to fetch and carry after that. Even a raised hood had the power to send her heart pounding. Every cloak, it seemed, might conceal demons with rope.

She dropped the scrub brush when she remembered what they did to the ones who had been afraid. 

“Belle?” The littlest maid held up the brush for her. Belle no longer had use for her titles, and hadn’t the heart to lie about her name. Not when she lied about everything else. 

“Thank you, Morraine.” Belle shook herself, clearing her head. “I must have been dreaming.” Belle’s heart broke for Morraine. The girl could not have been more than eight, and she should have been learning letters and how to help her mother. Instead she scoured pans, sold pies and bread, and prepared ingredients for Granny. It could have been harsh, but the old woman was gentle. Belle quietly resolved to do all the heaviest lifting.

“That’s okay. I sometimes dream that the fairies are coming to wash the pans for me.” The girl settled back down to scrub burnt bits off a roasting pan. “They say the Blue Fairy protects children, but I only saw her one time and she just chased off a man in a cloak.” Morraine leaned forward. “Do you think we could ask for some fairy dust to put in the wash water? Maybe it would scrub for us!”

Belle giggled. “Now that would be magic!” They worked happily by the back door, slopping dirty water out from time to time and rinsing with clean. The sticky sludge made dark mud by the back stoop.

Granny’s voice boomed from the kitchen. “Belle! I need you!” 

She set down the brush and dried her hands on her apron to help Granny with her figures. A knock came from the back kitchen door and Morraine answered. The girl fetched the basket of day old bread, passed it out to a set of waiting hands, and brought back a few coins for Belle to calculate the taxes.

Belle looked at the coins in her hand curiously. “Was that a beggar?” 

Morraine shook her head. “No, it was just-“

Granny cut her off. “It was no one. Never mind, Belle. Now get to work on those numbers.”

Belle finished the week’s taxes and set the money aside, noting when the King’s tax collector came and making sure to be out of sight at that time from then on.

…

…

While Bae ran off in his new clothes, oblivious to the chill and wind as only a child at play can be, Rumplestiltskin tugged his rough cloak tighter against the cold. The rope handle of the bucket was stiff with frost, and he rubbed the sharp ice crystals away with his bare hand before taking it up to trudge behind Bae to the well.

The new clothes were a mix of parts bought in Longbourne and some of the work done by women in the village. As with the little treats they slipped Bae, they did not mind working on his behalf, but Rumplestiltskin knew better than to ask them to repair or replace any of his own clothes. It was one of those little points upon which the truce seemed to lie. The village tolerated his presence so long as he continued to know his place. Having him at the bottom of the ladder in town meant no one else was. 

He was the beggar with a purse, the leper with no disease. As long as he kept to the shadows and appeared worse off than the rest, his son was welcomed.

It wasn’t hard to play his role. There was no time to mend his clothes beyond the obvious holes, and the cloak was so old the edges frayed and the shoulders were worn. He had enough money to buy fabric for a new one, but there was no time to make it. Not when the chimney and thatch needed his attention, the storage needed turning, and his spinning wheel could use some repairs. 

The winter was a good time to spin more delicate work, but the wheel had seen too many hours without maintenance and it was showing. He had a stack of special wood pieces he’d cut and prepared in the summer just for the purpose. 

His cloak would have to wait. Bae could probably learn how to sew, but to teach him right now would mean not repairing the roof, or having the pinholes in the chimney set fire to them in the night. For now, Bae could spin the twine and sell his spools to the cooks for trussing up roasts, tying parcels, and stretching leather. 

Cold water dripped between his fingers from the rope handle, chilling his hand and making his already raw knuckles burn. Rumplestiltskin didn’t even bother looking up as he approached the well, avoiding the inevitable turned backs and blank eyes that looked through him.

Bae started to trot off with a few friends. “Bae, stay in the square! Make sure someone can see you.” Bae came back for a quick hug before running off again. “Don’t wait until you’re cold to come home.” Rumplestiltskin added weakly as he hung his bucket on the pulley hook. He cringed as he touched his wet hand to the well’s metal crank handle.

“Let go of that!” A woman’s voice shouted. He ignored it. No one talked to him.

“I said stop!” His grip was pried open and his sore hands sandwiched between a pair of smaller warm ones. A woman’s hands. “You should bring a kitchen rag to wrap the handle. You’ll burn yourself from cold otherwise.” The voice chastised. 

When shock finally let him turn to look, he was surprised again. She was real. “Who are you?”

She smiled. “I’m new. I was travelling and got caught in the weather. Was that your son I tripped over a moment ago?”

Her lovely blue eyes didn’t stray from his. She wasn’t searching for something, anything, to escape to in order to get away from him. “Bae, yes. My son. You’re still holding my hand.”

“Well, yes. Sorry.” She let go. He wished he hadn’t mentioned it. “I just came out for water. Guess I wasn’t the only one who needed some. Here.” She took off her apron and wrapped the handle with it. “Try now.”

He raised and lowered the handle as the woman beamed. She hefted her bucket to the ledge and leaned on it. “So, what’s your name?”

Well, it couldn’t last, could it? “I’m no one of consequence.”

“Surely, you are called something?” The woman urged.

He laughed bitterly as he turned the handle. “I’m sure I am called many things, but my name is Rumplestiltskin.”

The woman made a face as she said it silently, testing it out. “My, that’s quite a name. I had quite a name once as well, but I am called Belle.” She watched as he continued to absently work the pulley handle. “Um, I think your bucket is full, Rumplestiltskin.”

“Oh!” The woman called Belle laughed behind her hand as he scrambled to turn the crank the other way. Her apron slipped off the handle and fell onto the ground. “I’m so sorry, Belle.” Now he looked like a clumsy fool in front of the only woman who would speak to him. He was trying to ease himself down to pick it up, his bad leg stiff in the cold and  
slowing him down, but she quickly picked it up and wrapped it around the handle again. 

“There we are. Trust me, a little dirt is not the worst it’s going to see today.” 

Rumplestiltskin was out of practice talking with adults, but not that out of practice. “What else are you doing today, Belle?” He cranked the handle slower.

“I work at the tavern. I scrub and fetch and carry. When I get back I have to scour the roasting pans. Then I help the little ones with the bread.”

She worked at the dreaded tavern. “Ah. I buy bread there. Sometimes.”

“Really?” She peered at his face. “No, I’d remember you.”

“I don’t come by the front door.” He started turning the crank faster.

Belle was quiet. He assumed she knew who he was and would simply leave, so he hefted his bucket out as quickly as he could. He turned away to take up his staff but a touch to his shoulder stopped him. He froze.

“If you tell me when you’ll come next, I can answer.” She said gently. “If you like.”

Her smile was genuine and unmarred by pity. The first genuine smile he’d seen on a face other than Bae’s in a very, very long time. 

“Tomorrow at midday?” He said, too quickly he realized, and looked down at his hands. “We, ah, we’re nearly out of bread.”

A dimple deepened in her cheek. It was distracting. “I’ll make sure I’m near the door.” 

“Good.” He stammered. “Well, I should find my boy. Tomorrow, then.” He tapped his staff on the stones and set off to find Bae.

“Rumplestiltskin!” Belle called.

“Yes!” He whipped around.

She held up the rope handle of his bucket. “Don’t forget your water.”

…

…

Granny was waiting when Belle returned. “You took your sweet time. Did you drop the bucket again?”

“No. I wasn’t the only one at the well. A man was there, too.” Belle hefted the bucket onto a low bench and wiped her hands. “I had to wait my turn and we spoke for a few minutes.”

“Take care, girl. Don’t go flirting with someone’s husband. I’m sure you meant no harm but the women here aren’t likely to appreciate you making nice with that pretty face of yours.” Granny pounded a lump of dough into a bowl and handed it to Belle, then started rolling dough for pies. “Most men don’t fetch water anyway. Too busy working with animals or tools. The man’s wife must have been sick or too busy with the children.”

Belle kneaded the dough and pinched off small pieces to hand to the girls. “This man had his son with him. Called him Bae.”

Granny eased off her rolling pin. “Did he have a staff for walking?”

“Yes.” Belle helped Morraine shape rolls and place them in the pan. “He was very kind. His name was Ru-“

“Hush.” Granny snapped. “He’s no one. Not anymore. It’s your business if you want to waste your time, but I won’t have him spoken of or seen here.” Granny roughly finished rolling and slung the pastry into a pan. She turned away and rolled out the rest as another girl brought chopped vegetables for the pies.

Belle leaned down to Morraine. “Why does she hate that man?”

Morraine’s eyes darted up to Granny’s back and toward the tavern door. “Everyone in town does.” She waited for Belle to show some sign of understanding, but Belle shook her head. “Everyone hates cowards, Belle. Don’t you know that?”

...

...

Rumplestiltskin’s skin tingled. Prickles along his scalp and tiny flutters along his insides made his hands shake as he started chopping the rabbit that Bae had slung from a rafter. The knife edge skipped across the board and Rumplestiltskin had to sit and calm himself.

How long had it been? A year? More? Since he’d last had a real conversation with anyone in town? How long since he’d been touched for anything other than getting pushed out of the way? People didn’t think about such things, the meaningfulness of being seen and acknowledged, because it was never an issue for them. When you were an outcast, it was everything. 

He could stand the poverty. That wasn’t special; lots of people were poor. So long as there was enough for Bae, he could do without. He worked for Bae so that he could have food enough in his belly and warm clothes. None of it had meaning beyond that, but someday his son would grow up. If Rumplestiltskin did his job properly, perhaps he would marry and move far away from his past and the shameful father that was part of it.

And he would be alone. Completely alone. He would disappear. Dust.

But someone looked at him today. She –Belle- smiled. And touched him. Even if she was cool to him tomorrow and said nothing to him when he came for bread, she would still be someone who had spoken to him.

Belle. A quick little name for such a kind person. He said her name out loud, testing it out with his voice and ears. The sound of it was in such sharp contrast to his own name: unwieldy, full of harsh sounds and sudden stops. Even so, when said with her lilt, it was quite nice. Almost familiar.

If she could say his name now and again, he might not hate that it belonged to him.

Tomorrow. He could worry about those things more tomorrow. For now there was a rabbit that was not capable of crawling into a cookpot on its own, nor would the potatoes and onion chop themselves. The bags of grain and beans would hold a little longer, though his next trip to Longbourne would mean hiring a seat on a cart for the goods he needed to purchase. That meant finding someone in Longbourne willing to make the trip to his village.

That would mean silver. And that meant there would be many late nights spinning. He roughly prepared the rest of the meal and set the lid on the pot. And the wheel still needed repairs. And his cloak had torn a bit more.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

Granny was waiting when Belle returned. “You took your sweet time. Did you drop the bucket again?”

“No. I wasn’t the only one at the well. A man was there, too.” Belle hefted the bucket onto a low bench and wiped her hands. “I had to wait my turn and we spoke for a few minutes.”

“Take care, girl. Don’t go flirting with someone’s husband. I’m sure you meant no harm but the women here aren’t likely to appreciate you making nice with that pretty face of yours.” Granny pounded a lump of dough into a bowl and handed it to Belle, then started rolling dough for pies. “Most men don’t fetch water anyway. Too busy working with animals or tools. The man’s wife must have been sick or too busy with the children.”

Belle kneaded the dough and pinched off small pieces to hand to the girls. “This man had his son with him. Called him Bae.”

Granny eased off her rolling pin. “Did he have a staff for walking?”

“Yes.” Belle helped Morraine shape rolls and place them in the pan. “He was very kind. His name was Ru-“

“Hush.” Granny snapped. “He’s no one. Not anymore. It’s your business if you want to waste your time, but I won’t have him spoken of or seen here.” Granny roughly finished rolling and slung the pastry into a pan. She turned away and rolled out the rest as another girl brought chopped vegetables for the pies.

Belle leaned down to Morraine. “Why does she hate that man?”

Morraine’s eyes darted up to Granny’s back and toward the tavern door. “Everyone in town does.” She waited for Belle to show some sign of understanding, but Belle shook her head. “Everyone hates cowards, Belle. Don’t you know that?”

…

…

Rumplestiltskin’s skin tingled. Prickles along his scalp and tiny flutters along his insides made his hands shake as he started chopping the rabbit that Bae had slung from a rafter. The knife edge skipped across the board and Rumplestiltskin had to sit and calm himself.

How long had it been? A year? More? Since he’d last had a real conversation with anyone in town? How long since he’d been touched for anything other than getting pushed out of the way? People didn’t think about such things, the meaningfulness of being seen and acknowledged, because it was never an issue for them. When you were an outcast, it was everything. 

He could stand the poverty. That wasn’t special; lots of people were poor. So long as there was enough for Bae, he could do without. He worked for Bae so that he could have food enough in his belly and warm clothes. None of it had meaning beyond that, but someday his son would grow up. If Rumplestiltskin did his job properly, perhaps he would marry and move far away from his past and the shameful father that was part of it.

And he would be alone. Completely alone. He would disappear.

But someone looked at him today. She –Belle- smiled. And touched him. Even if she was cool to him tomorrow and said nothing to him when he came for bread, she would still be someone who had spoken to him. 

Belle. A quick little name for such a kind person. He said her name out loud, testing it out with his voice and ears. The sound of it was in such sharp contrast to his own name: unwieldy, full of harsh sounds and sudden stops. Even so, when said with her lilt, it was quite nice. There was a ring to it that made him think of distant lands.

If she could say his name now and again, he might not hate that it belonged to him.

Tomorrow. He could worry about those things more tomorrow. For now there was a rabbit that was not capable of crawling into a cookpot on its own, nor would the potatoes and onion chop themselves. The bags of grain and beans would hold a little longer, though his next trip to Longbourne would mean hiring a seat on a cart for the goods he needed to purchase. That meant finding someone in Longbourne willing to make the trip to his village.

That would mean silver. And that meant there would be many late nights spinning. He roughly prepared the rest of the meal and set the lid on the pot. And the wheel still needed repairs. And his cloak had torn a bit more.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.

…

…

Belle woke early and slipped into a dress Ruby had loaned her. She was going to need another one or two soon, or at least get some good thread to mend the snags and small tears in her own. Her heavy dress was excellent for travel, but far too warm for the kitchens. Red’s clothes were fine, but Belle had to let the laces nearly all the way out just to breathe.

For now, the days of silks, corsets, and brocade were over. Should the King favor her she may become part of his court, but that was months away. Until then she still had to figure out a way to remove the threat she posed to King George but still warn him of the danger to his throne without endangering herself, her father, or Avonlea. It was possible the clerics still had her homeland in their grip, holding her father and his subjects hostage while they searched for her.

The tavern was quiet for it was only just after dawn, and Morraine and the other girls weren’t there yet. According to the stable boy, who appreciated the boiled egg she brought him, her horse was doing well, and she could see that his walk was nearly normal. When she got back to the kitchen, Granny and Ruby were finishing putting the first batches of bread in the oven while the next ones rose. Belle made them breakfast and sat with Ruby while Granny left to check with her brewer.

“So, I heard you’re catching the eyes of every man that comes through town?” Belle teased.

“Hardly, but there was one that stayed behind to talk a few nights ago. He’s funny and shy, but kind.” Ruby ate slowly, keeping one eye on the big oven. 

Belle nudged her plate. “You could do a lot worse than a kind man. Trust me.” Minutes passed and the women finished their meal. While Ruby checked the barrels and ensured that the mugs were no worse than they were the day before, Belle cleaned their plates and joined her in the tavern. “Ruby, can I ask you a question? About someone here?”

“Sure.” Ruby wiped the edge of a mug and checked a crack. It would hold for another day. 

“A man. He’s called Rumplestiltskin.”

Ruby set the next mug down with a thump and sighed. “What do you want to know?”

“Morraine said everyone hated him because he’s a coward. What did she mean?”

She motioned for Belle to sit and kept examining the mugs. “A few years ago this pirate came to town. Spent a lot of gold and silver here, filled everyone’s drinks and kept them full. He was going to move on and go back to his ship, but he stayed for a whole week because he was trying to convince a woman to go with him.” Red’s voice was flat and emotionless. “The night before he left, the woman’s husband came to take her home.”

“Rumplestiltskin?” Belle felt her stomach drop.

“Yes.” Another mug thumped on the shelf. “The pirate challenged him to claim her as his wife. Demanded that he fight for her, but Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t. Instead he pleaded that she come home for their son, but she just drank. Finally the pirate took what was left in his purse and threw it at him, and told him to tell his son that he’d paid for the boy’s supper.”

Belle’s eyes stung. “What happened then?”

Ruby turned around and dropped her rag on the table. “He picked the silver off the ground in front of the whole tavern and left. I was pouring ale at the table that night and refilled Milah’s cup three times after that. She was too drunk to stand.” Ruby snatched her cloth and scrubbed at the table. “I think she wanted to forget.”

Desperate for something to occupy her hands, Belle took another cloth and wiped the next table. “How could she do that? How could she just leave her husband and her son?”

“He was a traitor.” Ruby shoved a chair around and moved a table. The legs screeched along the floor. “He ran away from the front during the wars and was declared a coward. Milah was pregnant and for the next five years she had no help, little money, and a husband she couldn’t be proud of.” Ruby shrugged. “How could she be happy?”

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, remembering what happened to deserters in this realm. “Being afraid doesn’t mean you’re a traitor.”

Ruby looked up sharply. “Other men died.”

Not wanting to risk arguing with Ruby, Belle chose to let it drop. “But he protected his son later. If he’d fought the pirate, he might have gotten killed. Where would his son have been then? With a drunk for a mother?”

With a sigh, Ruby scrubbed more gently. “I never said I liked Milah.” She started to heft the biggest table back into place. “Or that I agreed. Only that I understood.”

Belle picked up the other end of the table and helped Ruby settle it in the center of the room. “Nothing is ever as simple as it seems.” She hugged Ruby and brushed some dirt from her shoulder. “I’m going to take care of it when he comes from now on. Tell the girls not to answer the back door.”

Ruby gave Belle a soft smile and rushed off to take the bread out of the oven.

…

Belle stayed occupied through the morning by helping trim a roasted pig and stirring the pot of stew in between cleaning and washing. She shooed Morraine away to eat lunch and stayed near the door and kept a few loaves of the morning’s bread on a nearby shelf.

Noise from the tavern was getting louder and she strained her ears to listen for a knock. When it came, it was softer than she expected, just a quick rap that she hurried to answer. She had to hold the door to keep it from blowing in, so she pulled her borrowed shawl around her tightly and stepped out onto the stoop. The wind blew his cloak and tunic tightly to his frame, and for a split second she imagined him stooped in front of a cleric.

She blinked the image away. “You’re right on time! How are you today?”

Rumplestiltskin held his staff and took a half step closer. “Fine.” The wind blew his tattered cloak hood into his face. “A little wind blown, but fine. How, uh, how are you?”

Belle tilted her head in the direction of the kitchens. “Covered in flour, splattered with grease, and sick of pigs, but fine.” She didn’t miss the face he made when she mentioned the roasted pork, nor the sniff he’d given the air when she opened the door. “Do you ever eat here? At the tavern?”

“Ah, no.” He shuffled a foot. “I’m not sure there is a place for me at those tables.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t like to be in the tavern either. Too… crowded.” Belle glanced over her shoulder. She saw soldiers a few days ago and didn’t leave the kitchen the rest of the day.  
Rumplestiltskin shivered a little and Belle cursed herself. “I’m sorry, I’m making you stand in the cold.” She ducked through the kitchen door and grabbed the loaves of bread and set them in his basket. “I hope Bae is well. Where is he?”

Smiling brought out little wrinkles around his eyes. It was strange that a man could look at once both happy and so sad. “He’s at home combing some wool. I have spinning to do and a delivery in another week.”

“A delivery? Where?”

“Longbourne. A few hours walk from here.”

Belle frowned. “It will be too cold to walk next week.”

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “I have thread to deliver.”

Remembering her travel dress, Belle stepped off the stoop and stood next to him. “I don’t suppose you have any spare thread? It doesn’t have to be special, just sturdy enough to mend heavy wool.” She considered. “I can pay. Where is your shop?”

He stammered. “Shop?”

“Of course. Surely you’re a master spinner?”

“N-no. I have only my home.”

Belle paused. She was never in the company of a man behind a door without chaperones before. But she was no longer noble, was she? Somehow normal people got on with their lives without hordes of servants, maids, guardians and eyes that watched their every move. “When may I come?”

“I’ll… I’ll let you know. I’ll need to… prepare my wares.”

“Wonderful! Well… ah, I should probably let you get home to Bae. It’s not getting any warmer out here, is it?”

Rumplestiltskin shoved a hand into his coin pouch and handed her a pair of coppers. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“You know where to find me, Rumplestiltskin.” She smiled and opened the door to go back inside.

“That I do, Belle.” He crunched off into the snow and Belle slipped back inside, warming her hands on her neck.

“Well, that was cozy.” Belle turned and saw Granny watching from the doorway to the alcove. “Like I said, since you’re leaving I don’t mind who you spend your time on, but I can’t  
have him hanging around my door. From now on, you can deliver his bread.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops. I realize I double posted the first part. Thanks to Vulgarshudder for pointing that out. I'll post an extra long one next time. SORRY!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about that double post. I'm making it up to you by adding this early. :)
> 
> Thank vulgarshudder for spotting my oopsie.

Rumplestiltskin shook his head at himself. Preparing his wares would involve stacking his spools in a row on the kitchen table. He’d have to make his home presentable. Not that it was dirty or unkempt, but it was just a bare hovel fit for an outcast bachelor. He only had two cups… no, that wasn’t true, but he didn’t like to get out the third. Milah had chipped it after coming home from the tavern one night. He’d sold the rest of the matched set but kept this one, afraid that it would lower the selling price if one was damaged, inadvertently keeping a painful memory in his own cupboard.

It wasn’t a large chip anyway, and still the best cup he had. He and Bae had scarred pewter and a heavy, dented kettle for tea. He had a bit left, so he could make tea when Belle came. As he got closer to his home, he cringed at the state of the front step. At least the snow would hide the worst of it. He didn’t have time to clear off the walk and the bundles of hemp would have to stay because they kept snow from drifting against the door.

“Papa!” Bae shouted, and set down the brushes. “You were gone so long!”

“I’m sorry, Bae.” He said with a slight smile. “I… I spoke with someone at the tavern. And she’d like to come look at some thread.”  
Bae stared. “Really?”

“Really. So go clean up your furs and lay them over the frame again. We can nail it up on the wall to hang so they aren’t over the stair rail. Then we can get started on cleaning up the wool and hemp buckets.”

Bae was off in a flash. They swept the floor, fixed a cabinet door together, and hung up Bae’s rabbit skins. Rumplestiltskin knew it was going to be a very, very long night, because he would use some of the new dyes from the Longbourne tanner to make a sample of every color he had. If Belle needed something, he was going to make sure he had it. If she liked it, she might even come back.

They took a break to eat supper. When Rumplestiltskin finally pulled the loaves of bread from his basket he felt an unfamiliar rush of warmth.

The bread was fresh; long cold, but still soft.

Bae was settling down to sleep as Rumplestiltskin sat at the wheel. After supper they both took up the brushes and carded pile after pile of wool. He had every intention of spinning as much as he could that night and getting it dyed as fast as possible. Once it was ready, he could invite her to see it.

“Papa?”

The first twists made their way through the wheel as the tight thread spilled from his hands. “Yes, Bae?”

“Are we going to have a real visitor? Here?”

“Is that okay?” He paused the wheel.

Bae yawned sleepily. “Of course. You need a friend. Do you like her?”

His breath caught and he had to swallow hard. “She’s very kind. Yes, I like her.”

“Good.” Bae snuggled into the covers and went to sleep to the sound of the wheel as Rumplestiltskin pressed the pedal and resumed his work. Long into the night, he twisted the fibers and thought of the sweet smile, the dimple, and the gentle words Belle spoke. He wondered, madly, if there was any way she might become his friend. After so long without them, a man becomes desperate for companions.

And companionship.

His face grew hot and he scolded himself. He’d only met her twice. He had no idea where she was from, what she was like, or where she was going, for no one settled in his village that wasn’t born there. Certainly not a pretty young woman. Certainly not with him.

That didn’t change the fact that she was coming to buy thread. He concentrated on spinning the best he could, spooling a strong shimmering cord that could mend her dress and hold for as long as she needed. When his vision started going double and he was too tired to see his hands, Rumplestiltskin slumped from the bench and collapsed next to Bae to dream of soft hands, curling hair, and possibilities his waking mind didn’t dare imagine.

…

…

Belle nervously retreated to the far back corners of the kitchen and hid from sight. A group of soldiers had arrived and she caught the bray of donkeys from outside.

Clerics. There were clerics around. As calmly as she could, she ducked under a table and started to scrub. By the time the tavern was quieter and the braying had gone, the floor under the main work area was as clean as anyone could remember.

Ruby hauled in a load of platters and mugs. “Well, you certainly found something to do today! Granny’ll love that, so you better keep it up or she’ll get mad if that spot gets too dirty again.”

“I don’t mind.” Belle said from under a shelf. “There’s less for me to do now that Morraine and the other girls have learned more. I need to be useful.” Knowing Ruby was busy, but needing to know anything, Belle popped her head up. “Where were those soldiers from?”

“I think one said they were returning from the Marchlands. Something about it becoming more stable since some uprising, but that the Marquis was going to be summoned by the King once the roads were cleared after the thaw. The men were complaining that the clerics were slowing them down and forcing them to take census in some towns, and their map-drawer was especially slow.”

A chill went through Belle despite the heat of the kitchens and her own exertions. A census. So the clerics were hunting for her and stalling for time. She fought to keep her voice even. “Are they stopping here?”

Ruby dumped the platters into the soapy trough. “It didn’t seem like it. The soldiers were hungry and impatient, and I think we’re too small. We don’t even have a manor house or a noble.”

Belle thanked every power she could think of that she saw this village first. “Where are they off to next?”

With a heavy spatula and a flip of her wrist, Ruby dished out meat pie and headed back out to the tavern. “Sounded like they’re heading for the King’s roads to check for safe passage, then returning to Longbourne. They want to know which roads are open.” She balanced platters on one arm and ales in the other to the delighted sounds of hungry customers.

Her father would be examined for his involvement in the slaughter of the army the day she fled, and whether he was aligned with the threat to the crown. Biting her lip, she wondered if the King even suspected that the clerics, tasked with aiding his people, were bent on dethroning him.

“You can come out, girl. They’ve gone.” Granny stooped and held out her hand to help Belle up. “They rode out of town more than ten minutes ago.”

Belle took her hand and scooted from under a shelf. “Thank you.”

“They didn’t ask about anyone like you.” Granny squinted and looked down her nose at Belle. “I didn’t volunteer anything, either. Figured you have your reasons.”

As she smoothed out her skirts, Belle nodded and twitched a curl back into place. “Again, thank you.”

“You can thank me by getting more water and scrubbing the rest of the floors. Can’t have one clean spot and the rest greasy, can we?” Granny pushed the clean bucket towards Belle with her foot and headed to the stoves.

...


	10. Chapter 10

Belle wrapped her cloak around herself and headed out to the main well. She almost wanted to go without it, to shake the heat of the kitchens, but she knew within minutes the sweat would cool and chill her to the bone without it.

There was a small group at the well today, mostly women chatting amiably, and they greeted her coolly as she took her place to wait for her turn at the crank. Perhaps Granny was right, these women did not appreciate outsiders at all, and particularly not women like her. Belle made the smallest of small talk and stayed mostly quiet. It would be to her advantage to not attract more attention.

Suddenly the friendly mood of the group shifted and the chatter died to silence. A few of the women simply left. The woman at the crank sped up and took her water without saying goodbye, and others retreated to a far wall along a building at the edge of the town square. Belle looked around for the source of such an effect, but all she saw was Rumplestiltskin.

She hung her bucket on the hook and lowered it down. He walked on as she watched, bringing his bucket to the well, never raising his head. He appeared to be studying his feet and watching their placement along the way, but she knew he must know every chip of every stone in the square. It was only when his staff tapped on the pavers at the edge of the well that he looked up in surprise at her.

“I was wondering when you were going to notice that I was here.” Belle laughed. 

The day was bright and he squinted, half pleased and half embarrassed. “Sorry. I find I’m usually… preoccupied when I come to the well.” He glanced around nervously and leaned on his staff to turn. “I might just come back later when… when I have less on my mind.”

Belle’s bucket splashed down and she started to haul it back up. “I’m nearly done. Stay till I finish?” He paused long enough for her to continue. “Have you got your thread prepared? I could visit and perhaps find something that would work?”

“Erm…” He stuttered. “I’ve got one last group in dye right now. You never mentioned what color the dress was so… well you should be able to find something that will match. I hope.” He smiled shyly despite his eyes roving the square. “I must go. I will come by the kitchen door for bread later? Will you be there?” 

Belle pulled her bucket up and set it on the edge of the well, careful not to splash herself. “Granny asked me to deliver your bread from now on. I’m sorry, will that be alr- oh my goodness!” Belle rushed forward when Rumplestiltskin’s staff fell from his hands. She grabbed it and placed it back in his hands, then handed him his empty bucket. “Are you well?”

His knuckles went white around the staff. “I’m fine, yes. That would be fine. I’ll… I’ll tell Bae.” He took his bucket and turned, then spun around to face her again. “Yes, that’s just fine!” He said brightly, then stumbled. 

Belle giggled at his reddened face once she saw that he was alright and waved as he left. “I’ll see you this afternoon!” She called after him.

She hefted the bucket down and had to use her other arm like a wing to balance herself. The other women made their way back to the well. Belle bid them a good day as she walked back to the tavern, carefully avoiding icy spots and anywhere she could not see the stones. 

Not one of the women spoke to her on her way back.

…

…

Rumplestiltskin watched as Belle’s eyes explored the room as discreetly as she could manage, taking in the surroundings as she set her basket down and let him take her cloak. He imagined that the directions she was likely given, the house closest to the forest, hadn’t mentioned the way the forest was trying to take back its territory. 

His home wasn’t in disrepair yet, but the branches that brushed the roof now would lay upon the thatch with the burden of snow they gathered in the winter months. Brambles nudged the drooping fence, causing it to bow inward. It was unlikely to last the winter. The chimney was thankfully sound, as he’d kept the ivy trimmed during the summer months so it would not find the cracks and chinks in the old stones and mortar.

Rumplestiltskin watched her move around his workspace, taking pains not to snag her cloak on the bent hook and set himself at the hob to warm the kettle. When she did not rush to unload her basket, he hoped she might stay a few minutes. “Will you have some tea to warm you, Belle?” 

“That would be nice. Thank you.” She wandered over to where Bae sat rubbing linseed oil into a piece of polished wood. “And what are you working on?” 

“Papa needs to fix his wheel, so I’m oiling the wood.” Bae stared openly. “Are you here to see Papa?”

Rumplestiltskin held his breath. “Why, I suppose I am. You’re Bae, right?”

“Yes! Do you want to see my rabbit skins?” 

“Perhaps,” Rumplestiltskin interjected quickly, “Perhaps another time, Bae. Belle might like to sit and warm up by the fire. Why don’t you finish polishing and then clean the brushes for later?” He waved his hand toward the two chairs by the fire. He and Bae had hurriedly moved their sleeping pallet behind the curtain earlier. 

Belle nudged her windblown hair behind her ears. Her cheeks and nose were still pink from the cold winds. “Thank you. Wait, Bae!” She rushed over to her basket and pulled out two pastries. “Here. I brought you a treat from the kitchens.” 

Bae’s eyes widened when he saw the crust of sugar crystals on the pastry. “Go ahead, Bae. Say thank you.” They both laughed softly when Bae took the sweet and blurted his thanks with his mouth full of syrupy apples.

“Don’t worry, Rumplestiltskin. I brought you one, too.” She handed him the other pastry and went to sit in the smaller chair by the fire. Belle settled herself into the smaller chair and scooted a little closer to the fire while Rumplestiltskin went to finish making tea. The sweet was heavy with apples so he cut it in half to share it with her. Crumbles of pastry looked handsome on his best pewter plate, almost like they had such decadent treats all the time and not just when they went to market. And only when there was enough to spare.

The kettle sang and he poured tea. Bae came for his and watched them curiously from his makeshift workstation polishing wood pieces. Rumplestiltskin carried his dented metal cup and the slightly damaged porcelain cup out to Belle.

When walked around to hand her the cup, his breath caught for a second. Her bright blue eyes had drifted closed from the warmth of the fire, and the light caught the red and gold in her hair. Her cheeks had lost their flush from the winds, but a sweet pink remained. Her lips…

He looked away. “Tea, Belle?”

Her eyes fluttered open. “I’m so sorry! I must have been colder than I realized.” She sat up and smoothed her skirts.

“The winter here can sneak up on you like that.” He handed her the pretty cup. “Oh, be careful. That cup got… it was chipped.” He ran a hand through his hair and wished he had something more to offer. Something better than the damage left over from his wife. “Sorry.”

Belle held up the cup and ran her finger along the edge curiously. 

“You can hardly see it.” He said softly. Weakly.

She gave him a gentle smile. “It’s just a cup.” She took a deliberate sip. “See? Still works.” 

…

…

Three days later and the winds were harsh, biting at Belle’s hands fingers where they wrap around the basket handle. She cannot feel it when she raps on his door.

His smile is tired and careworn. “Hello, Belle.” 

“Hello Rumplestiltskin.” Belle held up the basket in her red hands and followed him in. “I brought lunch. I hope Bae is hungry.” 

As he took her cloak she set the basket on the table and lifted out some pieces of meat pie. Rumplestiltskin handed one to his son. “Now Bae, eat at the table. I don’t want you dropping pieces. Belle, come and sit by the fire, you must be half frozen.” Belle gave her thanks and sat, stretching out in the smaller chair. 

Rumplestiltskin went to a shelf along the far wall and brought a tray closer. “I finished the thread. Would you like to see it?”

“Oh yes!” Belle said, turning her chair so the light would shine between them. He handed her the tray, filled with at least twenty spools of fine thread, each a different color ranging from jewel like greens and red to deep brown, each glistening in the flickering firelight. “These are amazing, and there are so many colors!” 

“Do you see one you like?”

She held several shades of blue. “I like them all, but I think,” Belle held up one that would probably match her travel dress well. “I think this one will be perfect.” She moved to get her coins but thought better of it. 

“Good.” He took the tray back to its shelf and put it up.

“You didn’t do all that for me, did you? What will you do with the rest?”

He sat at his wheel and gave it a turn. The wheel rocked noisily and he fiddled with a piece. “I expect I’ll sell it in Longborne. The lady of the castle there likes it.”

“I can see why.” Belle ran her thumb along the rows of filament on the spool. “This is the work of a master, Rumplestiltskin.”

“I was. Years ago. I can do a bit of tailoring as well.”

Belle shook her head. “You should have your own shop with apprentices. You could keep a portion of their earnings while they trained and do very well.” Rumplestiltskin was silent and Belle couldn’t fathom why. “Why don’t you have a shop?”

“I’m not exactly welcome here, Belle.” He shrugged and kept working. “I doubt anyone would come.”

“But you were born here, yes? You could earn back your place in the village.”

The bark of laughter she heard was harsh and unlike the gentle man she normally saw. “Half this town would just as soon see me gone, Belle. The other half would pack my things for me.”

Belle stood and walked closer to him. She lowered her voice. “I’ve heard the talk. I don’t care. A man should be able to get on with his life.”

The wheel stopped and Rumplestiltskin looked up. “How very kind of you.” He whispered in a harsh voice. “But here, in my village, Bae’s home, men like me are outcast or worse. If I suddenly had a shop or tried to make customers here, Bae would lose the welcome he has. As long as I’m poor and don’t ask for much, Bae has a future. I won’t do anything to put that in danger.” 

Belle’s mouth was dry as she watched Rumplestiltskin bend over his wheel again. She swallowed past the hard knot in her throat and walked to the hooks on the wall. “I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin. I had no right to say that. I’ll leave you in peace.” 

As she reached up to take her cloak, she heard his voice from behind. “Belle, wait.” As she turned, her hands brushed something and she felt it fall away. His voice softened. “You don’t have to go yet. You’ve barely warmed up.”

Belle looked down to see what she’d knocked into. It was his cloak, crumpled on the floor while the hood still clung to the hook. “Then let me apologize with my actions.” She gathered the frayed pieces together. “Have you any thread I can use to mend your cloak?”

He retrieved a splintered basket filled with rougher thread and twines, heavy needles and such. Belle settled by the fire and, still facing where Rumplestiltskin sat at his wheel, began to repair his neglected cloak. It was in need of far more repair than this, and she fixed the worst hole in addition to the hood, but she realized the truth of what he said. He played a role in the town, and in exchange his son was spared. Given what Belle had seen, men being scarce here, it seemed that the town was actually being practical, if brutal.

By the time she finished, she and Rumplestiltskin were casting apologetic smiles at each other.

“Papa, can I help fix the next part?”

“Of course, Bae. Go fetch my other tools.”

Belle rose. “I should go before I’m missed any more in the kitchens.” She held up the mended, if not whole, cloak. “Here, I think this should hold for a time. And, I’m sorry, Rumplestiltskin, for what I said. It’s none of my affair and you’ve every reason for what you do.”

He took the cloak she held out. “It’s no matter.”

Belle took her cloak and flipped the hood up. “May I come again? Just to visit?”

“I’d like that. When?”

“Tomorrow?”

He laughed. The sound was sweet to her ears. “Tomorrow then, Belle.”

“Till tomorrow, Rumple.”


	11. Chapter 11

As midday approached the next day, Rumplestiltskin found excuses to stay near the door while Bae scraped the skins again. The day was certainly warmer than the previous one, but he still didn’t want his guest waiting in the cold. Especially not if she actually came back. It was an ever-present fear that she might hear a little too much, or see his hobbling figure chasing off other villagers and decide to just leave his bread at the door.

Had yesterday ended slightly different, he would have assumed she would stop coming. His face still felt warm when he thought about it. Almost like deciding to ignore the harsher side of him, she dropped the harsher part of his name. Rumple. No one had called him that for years.

And she called him that again when she arrived.

“It’s not nearly as bad out there today.” Belle called to him as she tested a mended seam in Bae’s nightclothes. She refused to sit while he and Bae worked and only did so when he yielded and fetched her the mending box. “I’d still hate to be out in it for long. The travelers at the tavern look for excuses to not leave.” 

Rumplestiltskin knelt by Belle’s legs and pushed around the logs. She grinned down at him as the fire leapt and warmed her, then he took Bae’s latest oiled wood piece and inserted a wire. “I believe it. The winds come and go, but once the cold settles it stays. The solstice festivals are the only break we get, and that’s only because we build bonfires.”

“That sounds like fun.” Belle snipped a thread and found another loose seam. “You said you were going to Longbourne?” She asked as she pulled the needle through again.

“When?”

“Perhaps two days.” He gently pressed the pedal, testing his repair. “I have a one more set of thread to dry then I can make my sale.” The wheel began to spin with a more steady motion.

Belle’s needle paused. “How will you get there?”

Bae stopped brushing the wool and Rumplestiltskin halted the spin. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I thought I might fly.” Once his son stopped giggling he continued. “We’ll walk, of course, though I’ll have to hire a cart on the way home.” He didn’t need to mention that they were running low on grain and storage. “I need to bring some things back.”

She set the sewing in her lap. “Is that very expensive?”

The question caught Rumplestiltskin off guard. What woman, especially one who worked and was clearly away from home, did not know the cost of transport? And yet she know how to gauge the quality of fine thread?

“Yes, Belle. It’s expensive. It will cost me at least a third of my sale.”

Belle was quiet, so Rumplestiltskin considered the matter closed and began to test the movement of the wheel again. He had enough thread to make a good sale, and he hoped that the ladies would appreciate the many colors he was providing enough to pay a little extra. Either way he was going to have to spend nearly everything he had to stock up for the coming cold months, and even work extra now that the wheel could take it.

Belle cleared her throat softly. “Could a horse carry your goods ?”

He stopped the wheel again. “A horse is far dearer than a place on a cart.” He stood and went to his workbench to sort through spools.

The words came out a whisper and he strained to hear. “No, I didn’t mean you should buy one.” He could hear her fidgeting, feet tapping on the edge of the hearth. “I mean, you could borrow mine.”

Rumplestiltskin turned in shock.

“He’s no fine stallion,” She continued, “But he’s strong and not lame anymore and can walk a long way. Just don’t make him run on rocks carrying a load and he’ll be just fine.” She set her work on the chair next to her, Rumplestiltskin’s chair, and walked to stand near him at the bench. “Maybe don’t both ride him on the way back… when you have him loaded. I don’t think he’d like that very much, but he probably won’t mind Bae.”

Impulsively, his head swimming with the possibility of not scraping by during the lean months, Rumplestiltskin surged forward with a hitched gait and wrapped Belle in a hug and kissed her cheek in gratitude. By the time he realized the liberty he'd taken, the damage was done and so he held on selfishly for a moment longer before stepping away. Her face was bright red, eyes wide with surprise.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, but…” He mustered his courage but found that his tongue failed him and he could only manage a grateful smile that he could feel growing watery the longer he looked at her. He turned and busied himself at his bench, ordering nothing and managing to knock over several stacks of empty spools before he wiped his eyes, knowing she was still watching. “Forgive me, Belle.”

A gentle hand briefly covered his where it rested on the bench, surrounded by scattered tools and test yarns. “There is nothing to forgive, Rumple.” 

…

He’d failed to temper his eagerness, so she left not long after, needing to arrange the saddle for the next day with the stable boy as well as get back to the kitchens before she was missed. Rumplestiltskin waved goodbye to her, still tingling everywhere he’d been touched.

It was ridiculous. They were both grown; he was undesirable and she likely not to remain single. Women like her, kind, strong, and lovely, were quickly taken as wives even in times like these. He was actually shocked that an enraged husband had not tracked her down yet.

That must be it. Perhaps she had fled? Or was fleeing to where a lover or family waited, only to be waylaid by the cold? Or was she a refugee as Hordor had mentioned? These things would explain her having a horse and the haunted look in her face when she gazed at the fire for too long, but it didn’t explain not knowing the cost of a cart.

It was no matter. He could be a friend to her if that was what she needed. 

The horse was going to change his entire winter, even if it was for just this once. He would save the cost of the cart, and that meant better food, money left over from the trip, and a set of lighter clothes for Bae when spring came. In time, perhaps even enough for a second wheel, so Bae could begin his own work if he wanted. His son would always have a trade, no matter what. If a man had that, he need never starve.

And riding a horse would save hours in the cold. The two hour walk in good weather could stretch to three or more in bad, and Bae was just a small boy. Too small to be in the cold for so long, but also too small to leave at home for the entire day. He could tuck his boy against him and wrap him in blankets to guard him from the cold all the way to Longborne, and wrap him up tighter on the way back. He’d be chilled but not sick with it.

Head bowed, he gave thanks for himself as well. He’d not had occasion to be thankful for so long, it felt foreign. Having the horse would mean not feeling his old injuries as if they were fresh for days after the trip. He was still strong enough to make the trip well enough, but a hobbled ankle would cripple him in time if he continued this way. It was a fact of life he had accepted with the tattered clothes and sneers.

A small kindness to her, perhaps, but a gate of hope for him. If there was a husband or lover waiting or looking for her, he prayed that the winter delayed them.

…

…

Bypassing the kitchen door, Belle headed around the tavern and entered the barn. She nudged aside the clucking chickens that flocked by her feet expecting handfuls of seed, and found the stable boy. A few coppers and arrangements were made for her horse to be saddled and ready after breakfast. Fresh straw poked her ankles as she made her way to the horse stalls. They were in the warmest part of the stable, kept comfortable by a carefully tended stove that was a favorite place to linger for the cats that kept the mice away.

Her brown horse snuffed as she approached. “Look at you, my friend.” Belle greeted, and scratched behind his ears. “You look like you’re enjoying yourself here. I think you’ve gained weight!” 

The horse shoved his nose into her hands and butted her shoulder. “I know. But it’s too cold to just let you run outside unless there’s good reason. Would you like to get out? Maybe stretch your legs?” He pranced. “Good. I’m glad, because my friend needs to go to Longbourne and sell his thread there. I promise, it’s not too far and…” She rubbed his nose. “And it’ll be good practice for the spring, when you and I will travel there together.”

Belle picked up a brush and absently drew it over the nearest flank. “When you and I go, we will make the King see. Papa never wanted a throne.” She sighed. “I’m not sure Papa would know what to do with one if he had it. He’s a merchant, not a commander. I guess that’s why Gaston came.”

The horse’s twitching skin drew her attention and she brushed with more vigor. “I’ll show the king that the threat was never from the Marchlands, but his own courtyard.” She paused. She wouldn’t even voice her next thought. That would be asking too much, to go home. And did she even want that anymore? Could she tolerate another arranged marriage? Her beloved father’s restrictions, the suffocating pomp of court life, and the constant parade of chaperones, maids, escorts, and guards? 

What, exactly, were they guarding? 

Mere days ago, for the first time in her life, she had spent unchaperoned time in the company of an adult man that was not her father. The world had not ended, and she was not beset by plague. She did not feel disgraced. Court had never provided her with companions, just servants, fops, and adversaries. Her old maid was the closest thing to a friend she’d ever had, but she would never have presumed to sit by her side at the fire.

Rumplestiltskin had welcomed her as an equal, because he believed she was. She felt valued as a friend and… and what?

Belle quickly brushed harder, sensing danger in her thoughts and sending up a cloud of dust, leaving soft velvet and contentment in her wake. Working over the flanks and gently combing out the mane, Belle murmured and soothed her companion until she heard the sounds of banging platters all the way from the kitchens.


	12. Chapter 12

Rumplestiltskin checked his satchel once again. The spools were anchored to the inside of the bag. A leather strap covered the threads so they would not fray or snag. What bread they had left was stuffed with shreds from last night’s dinner. If they stopped for honey bread, there was no reason Bae should go hungry during the long day ahead. 

His own belly was another matter. Though porridge was filling, it never seemed to last the whole day.

“Papa, I’m so excited! We get to ride a horse!” Bae hopped around his father and wiggled in anticipation. “I haven’t ridden since Morraine’s Mama had to sell theirs last spring!”

“Bae, you mustn’t jump around when the horse gets here. You might spook it and then we won’t be able to ride.” It had been far longer than a few months since Rumplestiltskin had been in a saddle, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. Horses were not pleasant animals when they were loaded with an armored man among noise, filth, and blood.

“Won’t this be fun, Papa?” Bae put his ear to the door to listen for hooves. 

“Riding for hours is less fun than you might think. I’m bringing extra blankets for you to sit on.” Bae need to stay warm but the extra padding would prevent soreness as well as sliding out of the saddle. He carefully wrapped Bae in his cloak and made sure his clothes were securely fastened against the cold. When he reached for his own cloak, he smiled. The hood was well mended, though not as neatly as he might have been able to manage himself. It didn’t matter, it was on and that was what mattered. 

The edges were tucked back and smooth again as well. It wasn’t a big change, nothing anyone would really notice, but he felt far less shabby without bits trying to fray off everywhere.

In a few short hours, she had done that. Such a small favor, but he was able to repair the wheel as she did, her presence an excuse to stay close by, extending the life of the tool his and Bae’s lives depended on.

He needed to repay her, but how? She was well fed and had a horse. What could he possibly give her?

“Papa! I think I hear a horse coming!” 

Presently, there was a soft knock at the door. Rumplestiltskin stilled his suddenly fluttering hands and opened the door. 

“Hello, Belle.”

She grinned and dropped her hood. “Hello, Rumple. Hello, Bae.” Belle’s dress dragged through the dirty snow by his stoop as she lightly looped the ends of the reins over a rail. The hemp bales that protected his doorway obscured his view of the horse. Bae could not see, either, and he jumped up and down, using his father’s arm for leverage, tugging him over as he tried to offer his thanks.

“Bae,” Belle said, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. “Do you want to go look at the horse?”

“Yes!”

She knelt down and Bae gave his full attention. “Then you need to settle down. He doesn’t know you, and you don’t want to scare him. Go introduce yourself, then you can give him this.” Belle pulled a carrot from her pocket and gave it to Bae. “If you can do that, you’ll be friends with him in no time.”

With all the effort a seven year old could muster, Bae took a deep breath, let go of Rumplestiltskin’s sleeve, and calmly walked around the bales to where the horse was tied. Belle stepped aside and Rumplestiltskin followed out to watch.

It was not a fashionable horse. He’d seen the fine boned, color splashed mounts the ladies rode during his visits to Longbourne. Those horses were meant for show and light riding, for their delicacy and prancing gait made them prone to injury. Belle’s horse had the unimpressive coloration of a plow horse and a thick head that might best a goat, but it had the bones and muscle of a well-made traveler. 

Belle, unaware of his gaping, or perhaps the reason for it, patted the saddle and gave him a hopeful smile. “Will this work? He should be able to make it there and back without any trouble. The stable boy told me his foot was all healed up.”

“He’ll do fine.” He said, finding his tongue. Belle tugged at her skirts and picked her way over to help Bae find the horse’s favorite spots for a scratch. As Bae giggled, Rumplestiltskin smiled and checked the saddle, tossing a blanket up over the horse’s neck. He set himself to devise a way to secure his goods. “You don’t have any ties, do you?”

“I’m sorry, no. My travel bag attaches directly to the saddle.”

A saddle and matched bag? Rumplestiltskin decided to think about that later, and ducked inside to get some rope. He made a few quick loops and flipped the loose rig over the horse’s back and tied a series of knots. “This will do for when we come back. I want him to feel the rope before it has any weight.” He gave a final tug to secure the harness, then stopped abruptly. “Belle, what’s his name?”

With a shrug, she shook her head. “I was in a rush, but I call him Friend. He seems to like that.”

Nodding, acutely aware of the hour, Rumplestiltskin knocked a few hemp bales off a stack and cautiously led the horse alongside them. “Bae, climb up here. Get in the saddle and hold still. Be careful!” 

Once Bae was safely in place, Rumplestiltskin leaned his staff against the stack of bales and made a final circuit, leaning against the horse for support, letting it get used to him and generally delaying. Belle followed, curiously watching as he checked the saddle and his ropes again. When they reached a hindquarter he ran out of excuses and came to a stop.

“Is something wrong, Rumple?” Her blue eyes flashed with concern.

With a quick glance up at Bae, who was following his instructions, he took a deep breath and spoke softly, without looking up. “Belle, do you call me ‘friend’?” Nervous and perhaps a bit ashamed of how desperate he must sound, he hung his head, pretending to examine his ropes. Her silence told him nothing except perhaps that he’d pushed too hard, asked for too much.

Just as he about to make the effort to shift his weight again, he felt a touch on his shoulder. It never ceased to startle him, to feel the touch of another.

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin. I think of you as a friend.” He picked his head up to look at her face, lovely despite the reddening of her nose from cold and the escaped curls she tried to tie to save them from the kitchen. “I- I think of you as a very dear friend.” 

She stepped closer, her warmth touching his side as she leaned into him. Rumplestiltskin’s eyes drifted closed when the cold tip of her nose touched his cheek, followed by a gentle press of her lips. She stepped back and when he opened his eyes, her cheeks were bright pink as well. His stomach flipped.

“Papa? Can we go now?” Bae was restraining his excited wiggles, but he was going to lose that battle soon.

Rumplestiltskin stood fully and pulled his hood up. “Ah, well, yes. We should… I suppose.” 

He felt less a fool when Belle started stammering and pointing in the direction of the tavern, her eyes glancing at his mouth every so often. “Right, yes, I’ve got to… bread and pies.” She pulled her own hood on and stepped around him carefully. 

“I’ll have him back in the stable by nightfall.” He called as he clambered onto a bale to mount the horse.

“Right! Yes.” She tugged the too-long skirts and straightened her cloak. The dress was ill suited to her, but it was what she had, he supposed. Once he was in the saddle she stopped and handed him his staff. “Safe journey, Rumple.”

He took it, knowing that the look he was giving her was too hopeful, too full of longing. He wasn’t sure he cared. There were going to be only so many opportunities like this. “Till I return, dear.”

…

…

Belle dragged her skirts, Ruby’s really, through the snow and felt the wet creeping into her stockings. It wasn’t too bad, she thought, since most of the snow could be brushed away.

When she reached the square, her bucket was still by the well where she’d left it. Delivering the horse to Rumple was the side errand to Granny’s barked order to fetch water. 

A few village women stood by, standing close to each other and chatting as they took turns hauling their water and Belle greeted them as she took her place to wait her turn. The chatting grew low and hushed, and Belle’s mind wandered. Rumple would be gone for the day, so she would have no more chances to think quietly by herself. With the kitchen in full swing, for better weather meant more travelers would stop for food and drink, she would scrub and fetch and knead for the rest of the day. The smallest maids no longer struggled to heft great burdens because Belle had grown stronger in the last weeks. She spared them the heavier work their bodies could not manage.

She was no martyr, though. Belle never wanted to be anything but a dutiful daughter, a just leader, and, hopefully, a good wife to a man she liked and perhaps even loved. It hadn’t seemed like so much to ask when she had maids who cinched her corsets and made sure the sheets of her bed were smooth and neat. Now, with her stockings growing damp and the cold beginning to chill her through her cloak, it was tempting to imagine that she was the heroine of a great tale, undertaking hardship for glory.

Another woman lowered her bucket and Belle was next in line, so she leaned up against the edge of the well. 

Belle watched the side road that led to the tavern, wondering how many would be arriving throughout the day. The sun was high, glazing the surface of the hard packed snow with patchy wet ice and making a treachery of the ro-

_SPLASH_

Belle leapt up, dripping with icy water and gasping from the shock.

“Oh no, dearie!” The woman at the crank drawled sweetly. “The bucket must have slipped! Best rush off before you catch your death.”

Slinging water from her arms and pulling the frigid cloak away from herself, Belle expected a pair of hands to help her, or a fresh cloak to drop around her shoulders. All that came was her bucket, kicked in her direction. She pulled a hank of wet hair away from her mouth, about to accept the apology when she saw the faces of the remaining women at the well.

They stood as a wall, blocking her path back to the well. “I- I need to get water.”

“Heavens no, dearie.” Said one. “You really must go and come back once you’re dry. Perhaps when there’s no one else around to have an accident.”

“Yes.” Said another. She smiled. “You really should be careful. Wouldn’t want to ruin your clothes.”

The woman at the crank laughed. “You might need to mend them.”

They laughed in unison as if there was some great joke, but Belle, already wary of attention in the village and terrified that she’d attract even more, simply took her bucket and left, her skirts now completely wet and dragging even worse over the icy stones. The skirts slicked water over the sheet of ice and she slipped, banging her knee on the hard ground. Belle pulled herself up, refusing to let their laughter shame her, and slung her wet cloak over her shoulder so she could lift the skirt and limp back to the kitchen door.

Granny took one look at her and scoffed. “Took your sweet time, girl. Go get changed and tie your skirt up this time. No one’s husband to see your ankles back here.”

Belle slumped off to her shared room and dug in her drawer for clothes. She pulled out her other shift, thankfully clean, and took Ruby’s least revealing dress and tied it on.  
Her spare stockings slid on and she closed the drawer knowing she would have to stay up late to wash her clothes.

Belle stayed hidden in the kitchen for the afternoon, stopping only to eat a few hasty bites of stew and bread before scouring pans and loading platters with bread and a few scrapes of butter. Ruby left with loaded plates and returned with ones scraped clean of all but the scantest smudges of grease or gravy, signs of the hunger that came with cold.

She would like to see Rumplestiltskin able to feast like the tavern visitors seemed to. The man was never going to be big like Gaston, but when she’d brushed her body against him earlier, the bones of his shoulder had felt more prominent within his skin than was right. The man was not starving, though that was hardly a measure of being well.

Warmth crept along her neck when she thought of him and she paused in her scrubbing. He was so kind, so gentle. Gaston would never have stood still as she kissed his cheek. He would have gripped her by the bodice and demanded a real kiss. It made Belle wonder whether court was really a place that made refined people to command the realm, or just overbred, stable bound ponies fit for little but show.

Without a war, Gaston’s suit would not have been truly considered, but the conflict made the chaperones, escorts and her own father lenient and prone to not seeing the truth.

A loud bang shook the timbers of the tavern and made Belle flinch. The heavy front doors slammed against the frames as loud men filed in, and a deep voice shouted for Ruby. “Where is my favorite wench, today? My men are hungry and we have been thwarted in our first errand in your village. We are in need of comfort.”

Ruby’s voice cut through the men’s rumblings. “You’ll find no comfort here but what comes in a wooden barrel.”

Laughter filled the tavern. “Then, dear lady, serve and we will be merry.”

Ruby came through the kitchen doors a moment later. “Granny, we’re going to need a lot of food and soon. That group of soldiers is back.”

Granny started lining up a row of platters and pans. ‘What do they want? I’ve only got one pie ready and there’s the morning’s bread. The roast isn’t ready till evening, .”

Ruby slipped her hands through five mug handles each and headed out. “Load everything and make sure there’s more on the way.” Once she was back in the tavern, Belle marveled at the ability she had to change her voice and manners to suit the customers. The soldiers teased and Ruby gave it right back, never missing a beat or letting them fluster her. The men grumbled at the lack of food but the noise became contented once there was bread and ale on their table.

The deep voice spoke again when Red took out the meat pie. “You sadden me, lass. You have not asked what errand we failed at.”

“Well, you cannot possibly have failed but for treachery. Fine soldiers like these cannot be beaten by honest means.” The sound of clanking pewter and toasts heralded the men’s approval. “Not only that, I’ve no need to ask. With a mouth as big as yours, you’re bound to tell me anyway.” Belle smirked at the hoots and table banging that always followed Ruby’s jibes. 

“You wound me! I came to see a man in this village who makes rope.” Belle cringed. She hated the very word now. “He was nowhere to be found, and now my men are in need of ale to help forget who we travel with.” 

Ruby stood with her back by the door, ready to return to the kitchen. “And who do you travel with?”

The men grumbled and one spoke up. “We are elite soldiers of the king, commanded by Hordor himself,” The men thumped their mugs and slapped the table. “And we escort little hooded monks from one end of the realm to the other when we should be returning order to the provinces torn by war.”

There were loud clatters and the musical tinkle of cutlery as a fist banged on the table. “If they King says it is our mission, he has his reasons.” The pewter struck the table once more. The louder one had taken another draught. “The King knows his mind.”

The pot that Belle was scrubbing had fallen flat upon the work table. Ruby swept in with the first load of platters and dumped them in front of Belle. “Get to work. The suppers will be ready soon. Granny gave some of the girls the evening off so you’re working for two.”

Belle’s hands were frozen on the lip of the heavy pot, but she nodded and lifted the brush once again, unwilling to appear ungrateful or lazy. Hostage to the plates and bowls, she kept to the edge of the table to stay completely out of sight and worked, delivering clean dishes and utensils to Granny who promptly slopped roasted meat and potatoes, steaming stew, and wedges of pies and bread upon them for Ruby to carry back out to the tavern. More and more people came, as the good weather allowed them out for the first time in a week.

Afternoon gave way to evening and the noises from the soldier’s table indicated that they were both sated and just shy of being too drunk to ride. The loudest one called out for Ruby.

“Where is the wench? We must leave and the King will settle my men’s debt.” Ruby sighed and stuck her tongue out at Belle as she headed for the door. Belle strained to listen over the clanking and chatter from the tavern.

“I heard you, and if you’re going to call me wench, I’m going to call you ‘hog’, for that is how you eat.” The men laughed and banged the table.

“Then, shall we call a truce? I am called Hordor.”

“Then you may call me Ruby. If I were a wench I would have poured your ale over your head by now.” Belle admired Ruby’s ferocity. Years of waiting on ruffians had given her the kind of poise she wasn’t sure she had herself. Then again, court had a way of encouraging smiling lies rather than straightforward jousting. 

“I probably deserved it, Mistress Ruby. I would settle the bill for my men.”

“You can see Granny on the way out. She handles the coin.” A chair scraped across the floor. 

“Actually, Ruby, I’d like to ask you a question. There could be gold in it for you.” Belle set down her armload of plates and snuck close to the door to listen. “You see all the travelers that come through your town. They all stop here, for it is the only place for hours to eat and drink with a room and stables.”

“It is. We don’t overcharge and we don’t feed rotten hay. Your purse is safe here.”

“Which is why the King has never sent me with his clerks to check your taxes. The King knows all that happens in his realm. That’s what I do for him. Tell me, have you seen any strangers in the village lately? Perhaps a month ago? Maybe more?”

Belle suddenly found it hard to draw breath and her skin pricked as though rubbed with nettles. 

Ruby answered coolly. “I don’t see much apart from the inside of the tavern.”

“But you hear everything, and anyone travelling would have to stop here.”

“Only if they didn’t have family here.” Ruby countered.

Hordor laughed. “No one leaves these villages. Not even the coward!” The previously silent tavern rumbled with guffaws. “Again I ask, dear Ruby, have you seen strangers? A woman, perhaps?”

The quiet was stifling. Belle could count her rapid heartbeats and feel the sweat beading on her upper lip. Granny, in the next room of the kitchens, huffed and raised a huge spoon. The entire tavern jumped when she smacked a large metal bowl, the loud crash breaking the quiet. “She only notices the handsome men. Now, pay up and move along. You’re distracting her from her work.” 

Belle fled to her room, ignoring the girls loading bread into baskets and knocking over a stack of dirty dishes. With shaking hands, she hauled her travel satchel out of the closet and slapped at the dried mud that still clung to it. Dust flew at her face, choking and blinding her. Tears streamed down her cheeks. 

Coughing, the taste mud coating her mouth, she pulled her drawer from the chest and let it bang to the floor. She’d leave here tonight, as fast as she could. The next town couldn’t be more than a few hours ride away, and the weather was good, even if it was getting dark. Belle threw her few remaining clean clothes and all her dirty, wet things into the bag and shoved her travel dress on top.

Traveling at night was risky, but it was just a few hours on a seldom used road. A seldom used road that was cleared- one of the King’s roads. Belle slowed, feeling the frustration bite at her.

The soldiers would be on the King’s road. The soldiers were escorting clerics. 

With a helpless sob, she crumpled to the floor, clutching wet stockings and her bags of coin. They were lighter than when she left home. 

Belle wiped at her face and saw dirty streaks on her thin sleeve. She was poorly prepared for flight. The dress she wore was suited to the heat of the kitchen, and her boots still damp. If she left now, she’d freeze to death. She didn’t even have gloves, and her hands were cracked and dry from working in the kitchen. Holding reins, they would be bleeding in a day.

She surveyed the chaos, slim possessions on full display. One dress, a cloak, two pairs of stockings, two shifts, some undergarments, boots, a bag, and a couple small handfuls of coins from the bags and her bodice were all that she had now. Not enough to purchase loyalty or freedom. Barely enough to keep fed for a few weeks, but not enough to stay warm, too. Food was of no use if she was dead from the cold, she could not live outdoors for the rest of winter, waiting for King George to come to the manor house at Longbourne, and she could not travel across the kingdom to his castle in the middle of winter. 

Sharp realization began to cut into her. Up to now she’d only played at being afraid. She may have dreamed of adventure, but the reality of being hunted and cowering was not mentioned in her childhood books. They described the triumph, not the dirt, the tears, or the fear that frequently surfaced in her mind once she sat still for too long.

There were footsteps in the hall. Belle scrambled to hide in the closet, but tripped on the mess she’d made, painfully striking her knees on the plank floor.

“It’s only me, girl. Calm down.” Granny scolded from the doorway. “They’re gone for now. Put your things away, you’re not going anywhere tonight. The winds are up and it’s going to blow colder soon, anyway.”

“I’m sorry if I scared the girls.” Belle sniffed. “Or broke a plate.”

“Those girls have seen scarier things than a woman run from a room. And you can clean extra to make up for the plate.” Granny handed her a clean kitchen cloth to wipe her face. “I just came to tell you that some of the village women talked to that soldier outside. Might want to see to your horse, keep him ready.”

Belle got up off her knees and stood. “My horse isn’t even here right now.” She shook her head at herself. “I couldn’t have left anyway.”

“Where is it? You didn’t sell it did you?”

“No, I loaned him to a friend for the day.”

Granny saw the slight softening in Belle’s face. “You be careful. And don’t make me regret hiding you.”

“I won’t. I promise.”

Granny left and Belle pulled her heavy dress from the bag. The little tears and snags in the wool still needed mending. Rumplestiltskin’s spool of silvery- blue thread still sat on top of the drawers, waiting to be used, but she hadn’t found the time yet. She would need to soon, for it would not stand much wearing without a few repairs unless she wanted it to unravel around her. Especially since she’d opened a few finger lengths of the seams where the coins were hidden and hid those in a bag under a floorboard. 

Her nails bent as she pried the board up and tucked the bag at the bottom of her travel satchel. She looked at her hands. The skin was tight and hard across her fingertips. She doubted she could even hold a needle properly right now, and certainly not without jabbing herself or bleeding onto her dress or Rumple’s lovely thread.

With an exhausted sigh, Belle dragged the drawer back to the dresser, cleared the floor and shoved her half full bag in the corner. Then she crawled into her cot and fell into a chilly, uncomfortable sleep.


	13. Chapter 13

“How much longer, Papa?”

Rumplestiltskin smiled up at his son. “Not much father. You see the gate there? That keeps in the sheep and it means we’re almost home.”

They had done quite well today. The ladies had indeed liked the colors and the bag had more silver than he’d expected in it. He bought more supplies than he’d planned, and still had enough to buy shirting for Bae. On a whim, he’d even thought of a way to repay Belle for the use of her horse.

The color had caught his attention first, then the fact that it was a sturdy weave that could layer easily. But the color, bright for a peasant but just right for a perfect for such a pretty woman like Belle, was just the right shade to match her eyes. He didn’t even have to think about it- he just knew. For two silver coins, barely a fraction of what a cart would have cost, he bought enough of the fabric to make a full skirted dress with laced sleeves for the cold and, his face burning, some softer shirting so he could make a shift to go with it.

It was not an elaborate gift, but it was enough to repay the favor and, hopefully, convince her to visit and use his thread to sew her dress. She truly seemed to not understand what she did for him.

“Do we need to buy more wool, Papa?”

“Yes, Bae. Lots more.” Rumplestiltskin’s walk was proud. “The wheel is better since I fixed it, and I can go even faster. I have enough dye to do lots of colors, and the ladies are willing to pay for that.” He held the reins lightly and managed to keep pace with the horse’s loping gait. He’d never felt so well after a trip to Longbourne, and even with the night cold settling in, he felt like he could walk for hours yet.

“Can I try to make thread?”

“Of course Bae. All you have to remember is-” He was cut off abruptly by the sound of hooves rumbling towards them. He tugged the reins and moved them off the road. “Budge, Friend. Move over.”

A team of horses came to a skidding halt beside them. “Look who it is! Good eve, Rumplestiltskin.” Hordor shouted with a slight slur. “What brings you out so that I could not get rope from you today?”

“I-I was at Longbourne. I made a sale at the manor.”

“Ah, the pretty ladies and their needlework.” Hordor scoffed. “They say your thread makes their tapestries come to life. One swears the pictures move, but I think court just breeds cross-eyed bitches.” The men laughed, and Rumplestiltskin winced.

“If you need rope, I can have it ready in the morning.”

“Forget it. We’ll be back in a fortnight. Right now I need the comfort of a warm bed and a warm whore.” He spun and spoke to his men, wobbling in the saddle enough that Rumplestiltskin thought he might fall. “The tavern wench with the sharp tongue has me feeling needy but I prefer one without a guard that brandishes a wooden spoon.”

“What about the other?” One of the men shouted.

“Bah. Catty women in a village say anything. We’ll check next time we pass through, but I doubt the old woman would let it under her roof.” Hordor turned back to Rumplestiltskin and eyed the horse. “The clerics must be paying you too well.” He shrugged. “Not my coin. If those hooded fools want to pay so much for rope, so be it.” Hordor reached between his legs and adjusted himself, spit, and snapped his reins. “A fortnight, Spinner! Hyah!”

The rest of the men followed, whooping and swaying in their saddles.

“They sounded funny, Papa.”

Rumplestiltskin stared as they faded, then listened to be sure they were truly gone before leading the horse back onto the road. “Yes they did, Bae. They were drunk.”

Bae rubbed his runny nose. “I think they’re nicer when they’re drunk. What do I need to remember when I spin thread?”

Still confused by the conversation, Rumplestiltskin drew a blank. “I forget, Bae. Let’s get the horse back to the stable before it gets any colder.”

…

…

Belle’s mouth fell open. “But, why?”

Granny put more sugar in Belle’s tea and stirred for her. “I told you not to get friendly, girl. Women here have too much to lose without having to worry about you turning their men’s heads.”

“They think… that? Really?” 

“They may not, but it’s a good threat. The best, if you want the competition gone.” Granny pushed the cup towards her. “Get some warm in you. You’ll need it.”

“Why?”

“My girl, they said they would tell the clerics if you didn’t leave. If the clerics come here…” Granny shuddered and sipped her tea. 

Belle’s eyes began to burn. “But why would they say those things?”

Granny set her cup down. “You’re a strange girl with no family in a village where no one leaves. New people simply don’t come here and stay. You don’t look like us, you don’t sound like us. And,” Granny sighed. “You spend your time with the outcast. They assume you must be one too.” 

With quaking hands, Belle took her cup and sipped. It was insipidly sweet and made her gag. “So I’m the town whore now?”

“Are you? I thought I kept you too busy for that.”

Belle made a very unladylike snort. The tears came silently.

“Now, now. You haven’t got much time for that.” Tears gave way to hopeless sobs. “Girl, I tell you, you haven’t got time.”

Between her heaving breaths, Belle choked out her words. “Then what am I to rush for? Be chained and beaten? Shall I run into the snow storm outside and wait to die?”

“No, stupid woman!” Granny stood and took her by the arm. “You do what they want you to do.”

“What would that be?” The bitter words stung her lips. Granny dragged Belle to her bedroom and flung open the closet door.

“Be an outcast. They wouldn’t care that you were a whore if you acted like one. Stop gaping at me like a fish, I don’t mean that.” Granny pulled Belle’s cloak out of the closet and wrapped it around her. “I mean keep to the shadows, stay out of their way, don’t talk with them, and don’t be so dignified about everything. It’s your grace they don’t like, so pretend like you don’t have any.”

“But where am I to go? I have nothing.” Tears began to well in Belle’s eyes.

Granny clucked her tongue. “You are a dense one.” She shoved Belle’s last few things into the satchel. “You have the eye of the only man who can protect you. Hide with him, and no one will care.” Granny shuffled to the doorway and looked down the hall.

It was so sudden, so much more than leaving home, and so much more wrenching. She wasn’t noble or saving anyone now, she wasn’t a hero. She was just Belle. And no one would care. No one except…

While Granny checked to make sure the guest rooms were empty, Belle glanced around the room. She spotted the spool of silvery thread on top of the chest of drawers and snatched it, clutching it tightly as her vision blurred. 

Granny came back into the room, and the bag was closed and latched. “Leave your horse. The stable boy will look after him until you need him. A few coppers will take care of it. Come with me.” Granny tossed the satchel over her arm and pulled Belle by the shoulder to the kitchens. She filled a basket with food, loaded the satchel onto Belle’s back and dragged her to the front door, both ignoring and encouraging her crying.

Granny bent to whisper in her ear. “Send the boy for food when you need it. Now, make it look convincing. There’s already a crowd.” She pushed the basket in Belle’s hands and took her by the hood of the cloak.

There was, indeed, a cluster of women by the tavern and a few more lingering in the town square despite the bitter wind and blowing sleet. Belle needed no help looking pathetic and small as Granny physically dragged her out the front doors, pushed her towards the square and onto the cold, hard stones. She slid across the slick ground, and felt a light kick to her leg.

“Get out you little whore! Don’t show your filthy face here again!” Bell picked herself up and remembered not to brush the dirt from her skirts. She snatched up the basket and skidded toward the town square. Granny yelled again. “That’s right, slut! Run to your cripple! Hurry to your new master!”

Belle ran, avoiding shoves, buffeted by the wind that muffled the jeers of the village and knocked her over and as she made her way across the square and by the lines of houses. The yelling died out as she got closer to the edge of town, nearer to the forest’s edge where a small chimney stuck out above a little thatched roof. It was nothing, but so much more than she had. 

How was she to defend her father or her countrymen now? What did she have that could earn anyone’s trust in her word, her status, or her worth at all? She was merely the whore in the village, and hunted quarry outside of it. Protected or not, she was nothing.

Crying, ashamed, and covered in filth, Belle approached the house and clung to the logs of the outer walls to stay upright as she fought to stay on her feet in the blizzard. The door was still protected by bales, and she found refuge there from the wind as she gathered her courage to knock.

…

…

The wood pile in the house was tall enough to last a few days, even in the poor weather, so Rumplestiltskin leaned back in his chair and enjoyed a quiet morning. He was a little achy from the walk, but could hardly complain for normally he would be in agony for days from the trip. He had a cup of tea in his hands, more waiting by the stove, and plenty of food for some weeks, provided Bae’s snares netted a few rabbits.

Bae played with a small toy, his first in years, trying to catch a ball in a cup, still bested by the thing after an hour of trying. A funny feeling crept into Rumplestiltskin’s bones, and he could only dare to dream that it might be contentment. His eyes drifted closed, and he rested his head on the back of the chair for a moment, listening to the crackling fire and feeling the warmth of his cup in his hands.

“Papa?”

“Hmm?” He stretched his legs out and crossed his ruined ankle over the good one. 

“I think I hear something outside.”

“It’s just wind, Bae. There’s a blizzard outside.”

“No, Papa.” Bae insisted. “I think I heard the door!”

Rumplestiltskin sighed. It was just like a child to demand that you get up just as you were dozing off. “Fine. I’ll go check, but if there’s nothing there, you can clean up all the snow that gets blown in.”

He took up his staff and limped up to the door, unbarred it, and pulled the latches.

The snow and wind blinded him for a moment, but there she stood. His Belle was on the threshold, dirty, shivering, and weeping. She buckled under a weight and pitched forward.

“Belle!” He caught her just as she fell. “Bae, the door! Quick!” The snow blew in over them both until Bae wrestled the door closed. Belle shivered violently in his arms, in only a work dress from the kitchens and her cloak. “Belle, what happened?”

Her teeth chattered too hard for her to speak. 

Her hands were tightly clenched, so Bae pried a half crushed basket from her hands as he unlatched the straps to her pack and left it on the floor. Her cloak was barely fastened and fell away. Using his staff and Bae’s arm, Rumplestiltskin got up off the floor and pulled Belle to her feet, guiding her to the chair she sat in by the fire. When she was sitting, he and Bae piled blankets around her and pushed her chair as close to the fire as they dared.

“Can you talk now, Belle? Please, tell me what happened?”

She drew a shuddering breath. “They cast me out. Chased m-me across the square.” 

Bae’s eyes widened and Rumplestiltskin knew it was no time for his son to ask well-meaning questions. “Bae, why don’t you go and warm up more water and lay Belle’s cloak out to dry?” The boy left reluctantly, deeply interested in the details of adult life.

Once Bae was gone, Belle leaned over her folded arms and let out a muffled sob against the blanket in her lap. “I have nothing. I am nothing.”

Rumplestiltskin went to his knees beside her. “Please don’t say that. You’re a fine woman.”

She shook and hiccupped. “I’m n-not even that anymore.” 

“What?” He tried to understand, seeing only the lovely, kind woman he’d come to quietly adore. “You’re far too good for this place.” The village, his home, any place he’d ever been. 

“No, Rumple. They…” She sat up, her back as straight as she could muster as chills continued to wrack her small body. “They c-called me a...” She couldn't even say the word. Her jewel-like blue eyes, tear-bright and rimmed with red, finally met his. “I’m n-not.”

He wrapped his hands around hers. “I know. I never thought that.” Whether anyone believed it or not, it was a damning accusation. Part of him actually hoped she might have a lover or family coming for her, for it would save her from so much pain. Another very, very small and long suppressed part of him held its breath. “Your bag?” He prompted, recalling the unimpressive weight of it. 

“All I have.” She stared at the fire over his shoulder. “I have nothing and nowhere to go. I’ve been shut out.”

Rumplestiltskin looked down at her hands, wrapped, protected, by his own. Warmth at his back and food in his larder gave him confidence, but it was so wrong- wrong that her misfortune should bring him comfort. He felt his lips trembling.

“So you need… a home?” 

She dropped her chin, letting a mass of hair fall free from the ragged braid. Her reply was so low he might have imagined it were he not close enough to feel her breath on his arm. “Yes.” 

It knocked the wind from him and he fought to speak. “Would you have mine?”

Even softer. “Yes.”

He could offer this, he could protect her. He squeezed her finally warming hands with his and bent, intending to kiss the raw, cracked skin abused by the cold and cruelty. Something glinted from the space between her thumb and forefinger, gripped tightly enough to blanch her knuckles. He pried open her hands.

It was the spool of light blue thread he’d given her.

“Oh, sweetheart.” He wrapped her fingers around it again. “We’re going to be just fine, Belle. You’ll see.”


	14. Chapter 14

It was bound to happen, Belle realized as she’d sat by the fire. It was not possible for her to stay so visible and not attract attention. She didn’t act like a peasant, she didn’t look like a peasant. She hadn’t really tried. Just pretended, like it was a game.

The trunk Rumple showed her was plain and without latches or locks, but the hinges protested loudly when she lifted the lid. Her fingers left dark marks where the dust was before. Inside, Belle found some worn but clean women’s clothes of mostly homespun cloth. They were everyday clothes, some brightly colored, a few shifts, a couple work aprons, and so on. She took a shift and a loose overdress and few other things and closed the lid again.

And sat on the chest, her head bumping the stair above. There was quiet talk, Rumplestiltskin’s deep voice overlaid here and there by the chirp of his son. Plates moved about and cups were set on the table. The longer she delayed, the longer she made them wait.

She would have to wait here until spring, when the soldiers would bring her father from Avalon to the King when he visited Longbourne. That’s what she’d overheard. Wait here and impose upon this kind man and his son. A kind man with sad eyes who worked ceaselessly and had only this humble home to show for it.

It was still far more than she had. But she had two hands, didn’t she?

She emerged from under the stair. “Rumple?”

He looked up from where he and Bae were laying out bread and some meat. He gave her a shy smile. “Do you want the water now?”

There was a bathing tub on its side in the far corner in a stone enclosure. A curtain of rough homespun could be let down from a peg, but there was no door, no locks, and no maids. At home, her maids had bathed in more luxury than this.

But she had renounced her title. This was no castle, and Rumplestiltskin was waiting patiently for her answer.

“Yes.”

…

Belle cleared away plates, shooing Rumplestiltskin and Bae from the kitchen. Supper had been mostly Bae telling stories in between bites and Belle and Rumplestiltskin carefully avoiding each other’s eyes. She caught him staring once and he flushed, suddenly fascinated by his son’s tale.

Her wild hair was nearly dry, but the slightly harsh soap had taken its toll. Her hair had been rank with kitchen grease, mud, and heaven knows what from the street. She was grateful to be clean, but without a gentle soap her hair would be untamable.

The spinning wheel was turning and Rumple was at work while Bae sleepily combed washed wool. By the time she had the kitchen cleaned and ready for the next day, thanks to lessons learned at the tavern, Bae was yawning. Rumple moved the chairs from beside the fire, pulled out a thick pallet and laid it in the middle of the room, near enough to the fire to feel its warmth but far enough to avoid errant sparks.

He looked up and saw her confusion as Bae started to climb onto the stuffed ticking and snuggle under the covers. “You’ll have the bed upstairs. There are plenty of blankets and I’ve got bricks by the fire. To warm it.”

“I’ll sleep on the pallet or-”

“I sleep with Bae. I have ever since…” He shrugged and the conversation ground to a halt.

Belle did not like his downward cast eyes, and grasped the first idea that came to her. “Can I make tea?” Years spent as hostess made this her obligate response.

Rumplestiltskin looked relieved. “I’d like that.”

She warmed water while he got out the tea. As it brewed, Belle tried to run her fingers through the mess her hair had become and found it growing worse as it dried. She gave up and bound it in a coarse braid, planning to deal with it the next day when her hands weren’t so clumsy from exhaustion and nerves.

As she flexed her fingers, the skin on a knuckle opened and oozed blood.

He looked down at her hands, cracked and sore. “Wait.” Rumplestiltskin stood and got a small box. “Here, rub this in, like this.” He took a scrape from the box and rubbed it into her hand, paying special attention to her knuckles and the pads of her fingers. “It will heal the cracks.”

He finished massaging her hands, rubbing life back into them and softening away the scales. Belle was tired anyway, so the pleasant buzzing from her hands traveled everywhere and made her feel warm and drowsy. She yawned.

“Good night, Belle.” He said softly. “I have to finish spinning, but I’ll be quiet. I swear Bae sleeps better when I spin, though.”

Belle stood, exhaustion and emotion pummeling her presence of mind. “It’s nice. Almost like music.” She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight Rumple. Thank you.”

She climbed the stair with a warmed brick and looked over the edge of the loft. Bae was asleep below, hidden by a railing and low wall, but she could see the top of Rumplestiltskin’s head as he seated himself at the wheel to work. He glanced up and, seeing her peeking down at him, gave her a little wave. She waved back, and was asleep in the bed before Rumple had more than a few feet of thread on the spool.

…

…

Orange was the wrong color. It clashed with her lips and made her skin look sallow, dulling the red and golden highlights in her hair. It hadn’t complimented Milah very well either, but she had liked the bright color and insisted on it, even when it faded.

A week had passed with Belle in his home, and she was finally beginning to relax. As the cold deepened outdoors, she kept the hearth warm, cooked, mended, and freed him from small tasks so he could work. At this rate, he’d have a rainbow of the finest thread ready in another week. He could even take a break from time to time. The ache in his leg was better when he didn’t stay in one place for so long.

Her hands were healing, too. It became a ritual, his rubbing lanolin into her hands. Twice a day he checked to make sure they weren’t too dry, but they always were. Winter air and the fire made the air so harsh that he took to rubbing Bae’s hands with it too, but when he treated Belle’s hands, he liked to sit in front of the fire with her. If he lingered over it, well… She didn’t seem to mind.

The orange overdress brushed his arm as she brought him a pile of Bae’s latest combed wool. “Getting hungry?”

“You don’t have to cook for us, Belle. You know that.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Bae told me what you make.” 

Rumplestiltskin feigned dismay. “And yet the boy lived.” She smiled, a sight slowly happening more again. She turned to walk back to the kitchen. “Belle?”

“Yes?” 

“When I went to the market last I… I brought you something. To say thank you.”

The smile drooped. “I can’t take from more from you, Rumple.”

“It’s nothing. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have spent a lot more on a cart.” With just a little more spring in his step than usual, he half stumped, half hopped across the house to a chest of drawers. He was almost giddy. When was the last time he’d given something to someone besides Bae? 

He pulled out the pretty blue cloth and held it out. “I thought maybe… Maybe you’d like to make something for yourself.”

Belle’s eyes went wide. He’d matched their color well. “Oh, Rumple.”

“It’s not fine, but it’s new and you can make anything you like.” He held it out for her to take, but Belle only raised a hand and touched the fabric, stroking along the grain of it. 

She looked sad. “I’m sorry, but… I can’t really sew very well.”

He wasn’t as shocked as he might have been a few months ago. This graceful, beautiful, odd woman never failed to surprise him. Maybe he could surprise her. “That’s alright. I can show you.”

…

He heard the distant donkeys and the sound of hooves thundering through the town on his way from selling twine. From across the town square, Rumplestiltskin could see that Hordor and his men were on their way to the tavern. No doubt they would spend half the day there drinking before coming to see him for rope.

They would be drunk. They would be mean.

Belle was in his house.

He had no plan, no grand idea, but he knew they could not know Belle was there. He did not want to think about what could happen. As fast as he could, he hobble-hopped back home.

“Bae! Quick, give me the rope.” Belle was at the stove, humming to herself. 

“What is it, Papa?” Rumplestiltskin shushed him and bent over to hear. “Are the soldiers here?”

He took the bag and checked it over. Yes, there was enough for a sale, and it was good. “Not here, but they’re at the tavern.” He whispered. “I don’t want them coming here.” He slung the bag of rope over his shoulder and headed for the door. “Don’t tell Belle. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

The tavern was lightly inhabited, but that meant there was no way to slip in quietly. As soon as he opened the door, the heads all turned and he found himself watched by every person there. It was all so horrible and familiar.

“What are you doing here?” Granny yelled loudly. She stood right by him and at first he feared she would throw him out. Instead she raised an eyebrow, face softening slightly.

He was no idiot. This was where Belle got the food. Words would have been too much, so he just nodded. She was fine.

“Please, I have business with these men.” Despite their almost kind exchange, he did not need to try to make himself sound timid. He held up his bag. The soldiers began to chuckle.

She stepped back. “Fine. See to your business and get out. I expect a discount on twine next time.”

He hurriedly nodded and bowed a bit.

“Spinner, I have not yet prepared myself to see your face." Hordor raised his mug and took a deep swallow. "My men and I cannot find one woman and here you are to rub my nose in my failure. Wench! I need ale.” The dark haired girl brought a pitcher of fresh drink to the table and scurried away, but not before making eye contact with him. The beer was half gone by the time Hordor put the mug back down. “I may yet keep my appetite now. Why have you chosen to interrupt my meal with your presence?”

There was one excuse anyone would take. “My son is ill. My home is covered with sick.” He started to describe the worst bout of sickness Bae had ever had. He just failed to mention that it happened more than a year before.

Hordor looked green and scooted his chair back. The other soldiers did the same. “Enough!” Hordor shouted as he reached the topic of quantity and quality of Bae’s emitting. “Silence your tongue! Leave the rope outside and take this.” He tossed a small bag to the end of the table. “Get out and tend to your pestilence.”

Coin in hand, he headed toward the door and worked hard to not look pleased with himself. He limped out and dropped his bag.

There was another bag. It was not there when he came in. The dark haired girl caught his attention. “Take that. Tell Belle hello.” The girl disappeared back around the side of the tavern in a whirl of black hair and skirts. Curious, but not wanting to stay in front of the tavern any longer, he hoisted it up and headed home.

“Where have you been?” Belle asked as he set the bag down. 

“I sold rope. My buyer was in town and I wanted to take care of it there. I, uh, was at the tavern.” He held the top of the bag out for her to take. “I think I ran into a friend of yours.”

Belle lifted out a small pot of honey and a loaf of sausage stuffed bread. “At the tavern?” She said curiously.

“Yes. The dark haired girl.”

“Ruby! She knows I love honey.” Belle held up the pot and grinned.

“Honey?” Bae came dashing in from his corner. Belle gave him a slice of bread and spread it with honey. She started slicing more for lunch.

“There were soldiers in town again.” Belle’s hands slowed and a shadow fell across her smile. “They might come to the house someday, Belle. You should hide if they do.”

She swallowed. “I will.” For a moment he worried that her day would fall apart. When she had that face, the one that said she was no simple runaway, she sometimes sat before the fire and chewed her thumbnail or tried to do the mending only to make a mess of it. Instead, she shook her shoulders and looked back up at him, holding out a plate. “You should eat, Rumple. You’ll love it with honey.”

She never failed to surprise him.

…

After the second time she washed her hair (don’t look at the curtain) it was even more unruly than the first. It took a day for it to calm back into waves and another to be able to run her hand through it. After the third it was wiry, dull, and looked like a bird’s nest after baking in the sun. The shine he admired was disappearing and Rumplestiltskin could hear strands snap when she tried to comb it with her fingers.

Wind howled outside and Belle grimaced when a cool draft struck her in the house, causing the fire to flare and lamps to flicker. She sat near the hearth to let her hair dry once again, her skin still rosy from a warm bath despite the chill. Thick woolen stockings peeked out from under the skirt of her borrowed night dress as she sat on the floor in front of the fire, her hands occupied mending holes in linens. 

Rumplestiltskin sat in his chair, pinning pieces of the pretty blue fabric together that would form a wide skirt for Belle. He would make the skirt first as he was easily able to match the lengths needed for it from her travel dress.

The other pieces she needed would require taking measurements. 

“Ow!”

Belle looked up. “Are you okay?”

Rumplestiltskin nodded sheepishly, sucking on the bead of blood springing from his thumb. “I was distracted and the needle got away from me.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “You should be more careful, Rumple.” Belle reached behind her and worked at a stubborn tangle, muttering with frustration. She gave a hard tug and he heard hairs give way with a snap, followed by her squeak of pain. A few feet away, Bae rolled over in bed.

He set aside the fabric and hauled himself from the chair to fetch a bottle from his dye making kit. He sat back down and motioned for Belle to come closer. “Bring the footrest and sit. I think I can help you.” 

Frowning, she did as he asked. “Do you plan to brush my hair like a child?”

“If I took a brush to your hair now it would break off.”

Belle huffed but sat still as he shook a few drops of oil into his hands. He held up a single section of her hair and pretended he was evaluating a swatch of wool, for that kept him from staring at the back of her neck. Mostly.

His delicate fingertips gently picked through the knots, leaving behind a bit of the oil to smooth her hair down. Without the tangles, her hair was several inches longer and he laid the finished sections over shoulder. At first she toyed with the smoothed hair and asked about the oil he was using, but then her shoulders relaxed and she fell quiet. By the third section, Belle was swaying slightly with the motion of his hands, bumping against his thighs. 

The sight of it was enough to set his heart pounding, but he meant this as a service, a favor to her that sought no repayment. He could not bear to let her hair grow dull and brittle when it could be so easily helped. He finished another section and ran his fingers through it from scalp to ends, checking for any more knots. Belle sighed and leaned to the side, resting her arm over his knee, then her chin in the crook of her elbow. 

Rumplestiltskin’s hands stopped. It was too nice. He felt like he had her trust and it terrified him with how much he liked it. He liked having someone need him.

Bae needed him, but he was a child, and children needed. That’s what they do. 

Belle needed him. A _woman_ needed him. A woman needed _him_.

He scolded himself and moved to the last section. Need and want were two very different things. And she needed him because she was an outcast now, too. 

When he’d finished with her hair he gathered up the smooth waves. It was late, and she favored a braid for bed, so he made a straight, even plait that shined in the firelight. He wanted to kiss her head, but wasn’t sure she’d welcome it, so he put his hand on her shoulder and shook gently. “Belle?”

“Hmm?” She was half asleep. He and Bae rose early to begin their day, and Belle was never far behind now.

“It’s late. Goodnight, dear.” The crackling fire still needed to be banked for the night and it popped merrily in front of them as a reminder.

Belle straightened the dress and stood, careful not to brush against the hot grating and Rumplestiltskin fought to draw breath. She kissed the top of his head, almost like a sister. “Thank you, Rumple. Goodnight.”

His thoughts were far from brotherly as he watched her go up the stairs, knowing exactly what her shape was and how to tailor her clothes thanks to the backlighting from the fire. He took his time banking the embers, not wanting to lie down with Bae just yet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And romance.... GO!

Boredom inside the little house was sometimes as dangerous as the cutting wind and falling ice outside. At home, Belle could recline with a book and read if the weather was forbidding, or she could play games with her maids, host events for visitors, plan her next event, or whatever might strike her fancy, provided her guards, chaperones, and escorts were in close proximity.

In Rumplestiltskin’s house, there were few distractions of that sort, and only two books. One was a battered cookbook and the other was little more than a series of ratios for dye making.

One day the weather eased and Belle enlisted Bae’s help in dragging a rug outside and hanging it over a tree limb while Rumple was out. She took out her pent up energy on it, whacking it with a stick until no more dust swirled to the snow below. When they broke for lunch, porridge sweetened with dried apples, she held the door for Bae and followed him inside.

And stopped in her tracks.

The wooden planks and squares upon the floor were a mishmash of different finishes and colors, likely because the home had been built with whatever was leftover from other houses, but the mélange had been laid artfully. It made a maze of sorts across the room and called to mind every silly game she’d invented to play upon the colored stones in her courtyard.

“Bae, have you ever played on a gaming board?”

The child’s eyes followed Belle’s gaze. “Yes! I used to play with Morraine and her older brother!” He stepped into the room and tip toed along one series of paths made by reddish squares. “We could make the whole house a game, couldn’t we?”

Belle knelt down and rubbed a spot, lifting the dirt to reveal a dull blonde plank. “Quick, let’s make a game and surprise your Papa when he gets home!”

When Rumplestiltskin returned from selling twine and fetching water, Belle had refined the rules and they were halfway through their first game. “Now, toss the sticks and count the number of times they cross. You can move that many squares!”

Bae giggled and danced along his path, tapping his toes and laughing. “I’m gonna get to the wall first! Papa! Look! Belle made a game!”

Belle moved from her spot and handed Rumplestiltskin a cup of hot tea. “Here. I have to finish supper. Why don’t you take my place? Bae can tell you all about the rules.” She patted his arm and watched his face light up at his son’s glee.

By the third turn Rumple’s staff had ‘accidentally’ tripped Bae. By the fifth, Bae was poking his father to throw him off his trail. The sixth time Rumple tossed the sticks, Bae pushed them with his foot and tackled his father to the floor in an exuberant hug. 

There was always happiness in Belle’s childhood, but it was forever shadowed by her mother’s death and her father’s kindly obstinance. Belle enjoyed her books, and it was encouraged to a point, being preferable to her romping with other children.

She was kept away, trained, and mildly indulged until of an age when she was deemed old enough to be the lady of the house, primped and paraded. Ten years of her life were spent surrounded by people, but never peers.

But here was a father and son who had not lost the joy of each other despite painful isolation. Belle tried to imagine what her life would have been like had her father been more like Rumplestiltskin and found that she couldn’t. It was too foreign. 

She envied them. 

Belle had warm bread and vegetable stew made rich with the last bits of Bae’s rabbit meat. Father and son were still on the floor, laughing and rolling with each other in a tender wrestling match.

“I suppose I could just eat all this myself if no one else is hungry.” Belle teased loudly.

Rumple allowed himself to be pinned and Bae hopped up, suddenly aware of the aroma in the kitchen. He stuck his tongue out at his father, who was still on his back, chuckling. Rumple looked ten years younger.

“Belle,” Bae said, mimicking the voice Belle used earlier and pointing at Rumplestiltskin, “Why don’t you take my place? Papa can tell you the rules.”

Belle felt her face flush, and Rumple’s chuckling came to a halt. Bae was already loading a plate, unaware of the awkward silence. 

Rumple sat up quickly, nervously straightening his tunic and rubbing the back of his neck. Belle handed him his staff. “Thank you, Belle. I’m not quite sure what happened to the game there…”

Her face still warm, Belle turned and headed to the table. “You enjoyed yourselves. That’s always more important than the rules.”

Rumple sat next to her. “I’m glad you think so.”

…

Bae chatted excitedly through dinner about different games they could play while Belle and Rumple stole glances at each other. When she went to bed that night she surprised herself by imagining life not at Avonlea with her father, but there with Bae and Rumplestiltskin. 

Something had changed between them. It was more than friendship, and they both knew it. He still thought her a common woman, either running from a home or towards another, and in that she supposed he was right. What he didn’t know was the kind of home she ran from, where she was probably running to or that she was still running every single day. 

She wasn’t being truly honest, but she feared that if she told him that it might put him or Bae in danger. The lesser of evils was to continue as she had, remaining as just Belle, a woman who had found refuge in Rumplestiltskin’s house, though it was felt less like refuge and more like a sanctuary every day. It was a sanctuary with two gentle, loving inmates who made space for her with their limited means. 

The man who offered his welcome looked at her like he couldn’t quite believe she was there. Between his shy offerings and tiny kindnesses, he was becoming less the man who was simply helping her and more… what? 

She had never known anyone like him- a man who spoke with her and not at her, who let her order her space as she wished, providing meaningful things that filled needs rather than ornament or whim. A wave of warmth swept through Belle as she cautiously let the thought form.

He was becoming a man to her.

…

A few days of slightly calmer weather brought a new threat: snow. The branches that overhung the thatch of Rumplestiltskin’s home now lay upon the roof and threatened the whole house. 

He sat at the table fretting over his tea and oats, absently worrying at a seam in the heavy table with his fingertips.

“Papa, I can take the saw and cut them down! I’m big enough to go up the ladder!”

“Bae, you might be able to get up the ladder, but you won’t be able to reach the limbs where they need to be cut, and you’re not strong enough to get through one that thick.”

“I chop wood all the time!”

“Yes, but that’s for kindling. You can’t swing the big axe or use the saw safely yet.” 

They bickered back and forth, Bae claiming strength he did not yet have, and Rumple rejecting his son’s offer in favor of safety. “I can do it,” Rumple claimed. “I’ll just need to tie off to the tree and lay some planks over the thatch so my staff doesn’t come through. Maybe build a railing to hold first.” 

Belle tried to formulate an alternative, and imagined she might hire a man from the village to do it. But then, it would wipe out much of her stash of silver, which she planned to give to Rumple and Bae. Then she remembered…

If the town whore asked for a favor, there was likely to be a favor demanded in return. 

As father and son squabbled on, Belle set the pot of oats down on a trivet and brought her bowl to the table. “Let me do it.”

They quieted. “What?” Rumple asked.

“I can saw a branch through.” Belle took a bite. “Let’s do it right away before the weather turns.”

Rumple opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. “Fine. But I’m holding the ladder and if you can’t do it five minutes, you’re coming right back down.”

After breakfast, Belle bundled up and helped Rumplestiltskin carry the ladder around the house.

“I don’t like this.” Rumple groused. “You’re not used to climbing ladders.”

“Would you rather Bae was up there?” 

Rumple stood underneath the ladder to hold it as Belle prepared to take the first rungs. She tied the saw to her waist and had a small hatchet tucked under a belt. Gripping the sides of the ladder, she looked up at the overhanging thatch and prepared to take the first step.

Hands covered hers. Through the rungs of the ladder, Rumplestiltskin’s brown eyes reflected concern and a bit of fear. “Please be careful.” He squeezed. “I’m not sure what I’d do if you… if you got hurt.”

She reached through the ladder and cupped his warm cheek. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Just come back down by the ladder, okay?” Rumple braced the ladder from underneath and watched her climb. When she was halfway up he switched and held the ladder from the other side. Bae waved at her from the other side of the house as she stepped onto the roof and started making her way to the branch. 

“Are you okay?” Rumple called out. 

“I’m fine. Lots of snow up here! The branch is buried, I’ll have to dig it out.” Belle got on all fours and started pushing snow off the branch to reduce the weight and find a good spot to cut it. She finally dug out the thickest spot and followed it to the edge of the rooftop, carefully staying away from the steep slope where the thatch dropped off.

She raised the saw and gouged the limb until the teeth found purchase, then worked at it until she could safely use the hatchet. By the time the wood broke through, her arms were burning.

“Okay, I cut it!” Belle called between panting breaths. “Now I’m going to push the branch down.” She started to push at it with her feet.

“What?” Rumple called from below.

The branch was lodged in a pile of heavy snow. “I’m going to push it down!” She found a layer of grainy, icy layer underneath the branch and shoved against it. She kicked, pushed, and stamped but it barely budged. 

With the foulest word she’d ever uttered, Belle jabbed at the mound with all her strength. With a crack that sent the roosting owls and doves into flight, the branch gave way and she found herself slipping with it, sliding straight for the edge of the roof. 

“Belle—oof!” 

She flew in space for a split second and landed not on the hard ground, but cushioned by the load of snow and the springy branches. She might bruise, but no worse than diving to the ground from a horse.

A muffled groan came from the snow pack. Bae came rushing around the corner. “Papa? Papa!”

“Rumple!” Belle jumped up and started to pull at the branch while Bae pawed at the snow. “Rumple, are you okay?” Within seconds they had uncovered Rumplestiltskin, surrounded by the snow that had both caused and broken his fall. 

“Bae, help me get the branch off him!” 

They pulled and dug until Rumplestiltskin could free his arms himself. A few cuts left smears of blood on his cheek and Belle quickly rubbed the scrapes with snow to clean them.

“Well, you’re not allowed on the roof again.” He commented, brushing snow from his neck. Belle sent Bae in to make tea and prepare dry clothes while she searched the pile for Rumplestiltskin’s walking staff, then knelt over him and busied herself checking for injuries before helping him up.

“That’s no way to thank me for saving your roof.” She pointed up at the thatch and ran her hands over his arms. “It was bowing from the weight already, and it’s not even the solstice yet. It would never have survived another two or three months.” She found another scratch behind his ear and began to clean it, tucking his face next to hers so she could see.

Rumplestiltskin stilled and Belle realized that she had casually climbed into his lap, knees buried in the snow on either side of him. 

She’d never been so close to a man before, yet here she was. 

His breath was warm on her cheek and it made her hand tremble. When she swayed, hands braced her middle and stopped her hands. The snow melted in her fingers and dripped down her wrists. Into her cuffs.

“Belle.” Rumple caressed her cheek with his. 

Her body shuddered with shaky, unsure breaths. One hand left her waist and touched her face, encouraging but not demanding that she turn. When she did, her insides took flight. His eyes were warm and his angular face softened by the faintest of smiles, the one she saw sometimes when she caught him looking at her. Instead of quickly looking away, his gaze flickered to her mouth and back.

She felt warmth bloom deep and radiate to her skin, sending tingles across her neck and chest. “Rumple.” 

He exhaled with a sharp ‘huh’ at hearing his name, her recognition of him. Belle felt pulled, drawn in by him. Their noses touched, lips so close that they could tilt a fraction to touch. Rumplestiltskin’s hand twitched on her side and the other brushed back her hair. 

The single mindedness that drove her to venture into the unknown on horseback, plunge recklessly into affairs of state on the advice of a demon, and defy her beloved father for his own sake did not fail her. She turned it now to the tiny, terrifying space that lay between his lips and hers, for he would never crush her to him, and he was half encased in snow anyway.

Belle closed her eyes and followed the touch at her nose and was met halfway. His lips molded to hers, gentle tugs and tiny squeezes punctuated by the quiet, wet sound of it flooded her body with a surge of heat. She followed his lead, holding his lower lip between hers and giving it a faint pull. The little moan he made was enough to make her gasp.

A pan banged from somewhere inside the house. They stayed together, lips parted slightly, panting in the snow, until Belle felt a slight push setting her upright. She shivered as cold air replaced his arms.

Rumple licked his lips, still looking at her. “Bae will wonder where we are. Come looking for us.”

Knowing she must be as red as a radish, Belle nodded and helped him up, brushing the snow from his back and handing him his staff. They put the ladder away and walked to the door, Rumple’s hands fidgeting and reaching for her from time to time.

As Belle was about to open the door, Rumple stopped her and touched a brief kiss to her lips once more. “Thank you.” 

She swallowed hard. “Was that for the roof?”

He smiled.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. Real life and all...

No matter how many times that night he told himself that this was the natural order of things- that a man and woman left alone long enough would eventually grow fond of each other- he knew it was a lie. He’d been alone with Milah long enough and she’d only grown to hate him. But then, they had been far better off at one time. Perhaps his Belle was unused to even the meagre comforts he could provide?

But that made little sense either, for he’d felt the fabric of her heavy wool dress. It only looked plain, but the tailoring was flawless. Not one stich was uneven, not one cross of warp and weft bulged and the fabric, though obviously mostly wool, was clearly a blend made to shed water, keep the wearer warm, and still look good. And she had a horse.

She was a fairy. She was a princess.

She was a fairy princess. 

Rumplestiltskin snorted and nearly woke Bae, so he rose and sat in his chair by the warm hearth and threw kindling on the glowing embers. It would be just his luck that he was some test for a fairy earning her wings. They were capricious things and he never failed to be amused by the tales of mixed success when people had dealings with them.

But if that was case, would she not have finished her task and left long ago? And Belle was no sparkling little midge and no amount of glamour was going to make her one. 

She was a woman; a woman who got dirty and tired whose hair needed oil. She liked thick wool stockings and hot baths, and when she was illuminated from behind in a nightgown she made his hands itch. When she stared at the fire he imagined hearing her mind spinning like his wheel. 

And she kissed him.

She was a dream. Maybe he was dreaming. But if he was dreaming he’d certainly not be sitting in front of his fire confused about fairies in the middle of the night. Was he so pathetic as to dream about being confused about a woman, rather than indulge his mind’s wanderings with her?

Rumplestiltskin sighed and admitted defeat. He crawled back under the covers and dozed fitfully until dawn.

… 

The fabric of Belle’s new blue skirt swished as she set down bowls and warmed his tea. When she came down the stairs that morning, Rumplestiltskin had been at his wheel completing a roll of twine. He got to watch her come down the stairs, skirts swaying, until she reached the ground floor. He was standing by then.

The sleeves of the shirt flowed down her arms nicely, and the bodice fit perfectly. He’d gotten a better look at her shape as she walked in front of the fire that night than he realized.

Belle sat at the table and gave him a soft smile. “Are you going to eat breakfast, Bae, or are you going to keep playing?”

“Coming!” In a flash, Bae abandoned his new game and covered the floor with the rug again. Rumplestiltskin ruffled his son’s messy hair and took a bite of porridge. It was sweet with honey.

“Papa, can I come with you? It’s not so cold today and I can help!”

Belle made a face. “Not so cold? It’s winter! This is horrible!”

Rumplestiltskin and Bae both sniggered. “Belle, it’s not even halfway over yet.” Rumplestiltskin looked at the door, dreading the howling winds and drafts that liked to whistle around the hinges. “The storms have barely started. We’ll have to make sure your heavy dress is mended before then.”

Bae swallowed a huge bite. “How do you like the dress Papa made for you?”

“I like it very much. You Papa is welcome to make me pretty clothes anytime.” She teasingly nudged his foot under the table. “He’s very good at it.”

Bae sat up straight and proud. “My Papa is very good at many things.”

Rumplestiltskin ducked his head and finished his breakfast quickly while Belle blushed and suddenly turned her attention to her tea. Bae chattered on, unaware of their developments. “Papa and I are going to deliver our twine today, and I made a whole bunch! Please Papa, can I come with you?”

“Okay, you can come.” He stood and set his bowl by Belle’s wash basin. “But you have to stay with me and if the weather turns, we’re coming home right away. No stalling.”

Bae gave a whoop of excitement and shoveled the rest of his breakfast in his mouth. Belle laughed at his stuffed cheeks and took his bowl to wash as Rumplestiltskin went to get his bag ready. He packed only his own rolls of twine and let Bae carry his own. He watched his son carefully load his bag with a mix of pride and sadness.

If his son continued to learn, he would be very good, but like any parent, Rumplestiltskin wished his son more than the life of a lowly spinner.

“Rumple?” Belle was at his side, holding out his cloak. Her cheeks were still a bit pink. She held his staff while he tied his cloak.

“Thank you.” His palm covered her hand as he took back his staff. “We’ll be back soon.”

“C’mon, Papa!” Bae goaded from the door, his hurriedly tied cloak only on one shoulder.

She walked him to the door and held it open. Rumplestiltskin winced as he looked out. “Bar it after us.” 

“I will.” She grasped his hand as he walked out into the cold behind Bae. It left behind a memory of warmth as he followed his son’s scampering tracks in the snow. Perhaps, if Bae could be happy, being a lowly spinner might not be such a bad life for him.

…

The first house had a heavy door that creaked on heavy hinges as it opened. “What can I do- oh, it’s you.” Rumplestiltskin stayed back from the door with Baelfire behind him and his staff in front. “Hurry up. What do you want?”

“I have twine you if have need of it, miss.” 

Bae popped his head out from under his father’s arm. “Me, too! I made lots!”

The creases in the woman’s forehead smoothed and she waved for Bae to step onto the stoop. “Well show me what you have today, Master Baelfire!” Rumplestiltskin started to come with him to help, but she put up her hand. “Not you.”

She took a roll of twine and unwound a few inches. “This is well made, Bae.”

“Yes.” He said very seriously. “Papa taught me to make twine strong enough to tie roasts, make snares, string a trellis and even tie skins. 

The woman sneered a little. “Well, your Papa is good for something then, isn’t he.” She rerolled the ball. “I’ll take three. I have several roasts to prepare for the Solstice festival.” She eyed Bae appraisingly. Rumplestiltskin knew the woman had three daughters near Bae’s age. “Are you going to be at the festival? There’s going to be a feast and dancing and music. My daughters will be there.”

“I don’t know. Papa has been very busy.”

“I’m sure he won’t mind.” She nailed him with a hard glare as Bae pulled two more rolls from his bag. “He can keep watch in the forest for demons while you’re at the festival.”

“Here’s two more! I hope you like them.”

“I’m sure I will.” She pulled two coppers from her pocket and gave them to Bae. It was more than she paid Rumplestiltskin the last time he sold her three. “Here you are. Now off you go, I have work to do. We’ll see you at the festival, Bae!”

…

The other houses went much the same, with varying degrees of coolness and disgust directed at him. By the fourth, Rumple stopped knocking on the door and simply stayed behind, letting Bae do the sale. The village liked Bae and welcomed him. Bae could have a future here, and that was a priceless commodity. It was the reason why Rumplestiltskin stayed.

That, and he was afraid to leave. At least he knew where he stood here.

When they reached the tavern, they only had four rolls left between them, Bae’s one to his own three. “Bae, you knock on the front door and sell your last one. I’ll go around back.” Flushed with his success and happy to be at their last stop, Bae needed no more encouragement. He knocked as hard as his little fist could and once Rumplestiltskin saw the dark haired girl take him inside, he went to the corner and turned to follow the gravel, carefully watching his footing as he made his way to the back door.

He rapped the door with his staff and stood back.

A raised voice came through the door. “-the devil is banging back he- Oh.” Granny looked down her nose at him as she took a shawl from the girl at her elbow. “Thought you might be another soldier. What do you want?” 

“I have three rolls of twine. Free of charge.”

She put her fists on her hips. “I don’t need charity from you, spinner.”

“It isn’t. I promised you a discount, and right now Bae is selling you a roll up front.” He held out the twine. “Take it. Please.”

Granny plucked it from his hands and handed it to the girl who scurried off. The old woman pulled the shawl around her shoulders and kicked at a chipped bit of wood on the stoop. “So… how is she?”

“Fine. Belle is fine.” He knew he smiled. He couldn’t help it when he thought of her in her blue dress. A rare spark in him flared. “She… She isn’t what people think she is.”

Granny barked a laugh. “You think I don’t know that?” She leaned her forearm against the doorframe. “She must have been riding for nearly two weeks the day she got here, feet torn and bruised all over. Said she was a lady’s maid. Ha! No whore either. Hands too soft for a maid, heart too soft for a whore. Whatever she really is, she’s got quite a story to tell.”

Rumplestiltskin tightened his grip on the staff. “What?”

“You heard me.” Granny looked at him appraisingly then shook her head. “Maybe she’ll tell you.” She brushed her sleeves, sending little puffs of flour dust into the air. “Well, now. It’s too quiet in my kitchen and that means nothing is getting done. Get going, and take good care of that girl.”

…

…

Belle watched from her chair as Rumplestiltskin hung Bae’s cloak and took the packet of two eggs and a few sausage links to the cold closet. The boy had sold twine at the tavern and Ruby must have sent a gift. 

She handed Rumplestiltskin a cup of tea. “Any news?” 

“Sold out, thankfully. The tavern is busy, by the look of it. I heard someone say that more roads were getting blocked by snow and the high pass is covered by an avalanche. 

There’s no passage to or from the coast.” He sat by the fire with his tea. 

Bae bounced. “I have news, too!” 

Belle untwisted her hands from her rag and spoke carefully. “What did you hear today, Bae?”

The boy wiped his mouth after taking a greedy mouthful of water. “More roads are snowed over.” Another loud swallow. Belle could hear it by the fire all the way from the kitchen. “The people at the tavern are looking to find rooms in the village since there are six of them sharing two rooms. The stable boy has new clothes and is getting married soon.”

Belle set her mending down. “Really? His new wife is going to live in that little room with the sheep?”

“No.” Bae tugged at his strung rabbit hides. “He’s leaving when the thaw comes.”

Rumplestiltskin drummed his fingers on the table. “How did you hear that, Bae?”

“He told me when I went to see the horse. You were in the tavern kitchen.” Bae poked the hide and looked up when Belle stood suddenly. “I told Friend that you were happy staying with us.”

Belle gave a smile, but it fell once Bae looked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not type 'Master Bae' and not crack up.


	17. Chapter 17

Bae showed Belle how to soak hemp straw that afternoon. Most of it was stripped and set aside for Rumplestiltskin’s work, though he wouldn’t say what he did with it. Bae giddily demonstrated how to braid a few softened straws together and tied the ends together with a bit of twine.

Belle held up the coarse braided loop and swung it by the twine. “But, what’s it for?”

Bae took the loop and pushed it onto her head, settling it in her hair. “See? It’s a crown for the Solstice festival! Everyone wears them.”

The straws felt rough, and they were going to be a devil to get out of her hair. “They’re a bit plain, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be silly.” Bae scoffed. “We have to decorate them. We can gather some winter berries, bits of pine, feathers, or anything you want. The fancy ones are almost like real crowns, but everyone here uses vines or straws.” 

Belle dropped her hand and remembered the last time she wore ornament. “What do you like to use?”

Rumplestiltskin came in from outside and took one look at what they were working on. “Better you than me. Just promise me you won’t crush the berries like last year.” Bae shrugged and looked down. “I promise.” Rumplestiltskin finished cleaning his boots and came into the kitchen where his lunch waited, kept warm under a hot trivet.

The tied straws came free with some work and Belle handed the straw crown back to Bae and joined Rumple at the table. She sat on the table and leaned over to whisper near his ear. “So, what happened last year?” 

He smiled with lopsided fondness. “He was so excited that he held the crowns too tight, crushing the berries he’d woven in. It was so cold that they froze and we never noticed in the dark.” He spoke low and soft, his voice a breathy rumble. “After I wore it for a while, I noticed something wet on my head.” He stifled a laugh. “Those berries had melted and dripped dark red juice all over me. It took a day of soaking to get it out of my clothes. And…” He looked up at the ceiling. “My hair was red for a week.”

Belle’s mouth fell open and, without meaning to, she stared at his hair, imagining the faint streaks of gray and light brown replaced with vivid, berry red. She pursed her lips and her chin began to quiver.

Rumple thrust his chin out. “It wasn’t funny at the time.”

She collapsed into peals of laughter, bent in half by her giggles and helpless against them. Rumple began to chuckle and leaned his elbows on the table next to her. Belle’s snickers calmed and she sat up to wipe her eyes. The sight of the top of his head next to her was enough to make her giggle anew and try as she might, there was no stopping.

Weak with laughter, Belle slouched and rested her cheek on the top of Rumple’s head. He stopped laughing. Instead of pulling away, she felt him turn towards her so her cheek grazed his forehead, his face against her arm almost nuzzling her. He leaned into her for a moment and sighed with a low breathy hum that made her insides jump and her skin tingle. 

She needed to think, and he was too close. 

“I-I forgot your spoon. Sorry.” She hopped off the table and took one to him. “Bae, why don’t we let your Papa eat and I’ll help you find decorations for the crowns.”

…

Bae busied himself plucking the smallest and brightest sprigs from fragrant pines and evergreens. A few of them Belle knew could be used for cooking so she told him to pick extra.

“Now, do you see those berries over there? In the bushes?” Bae pointed to a particularly thorny bramble. 

“Yes. I pick those?” 

“Yep. The bush next to it has white ones, too.” Bae turned back to his tree and climbed to a low limb. “Then we can see if there’s any ivy left.”

Belle took her basket and surveyed the bramble. Bright red berries were tucked inside thorny vines. At one time they were certainly green and tender, but they had long since gone woody and the stems were hard and unyielding. Her arm was barely slim enough to slip between the winding branches and thorns to reach the long stems with berries inside. She pulled one out and examined it. It was jewel-like, as brilliant as the gems in the diadem she wore the day she ran away. It was an interesting thought- these thorns and iron hard vines guarding a prize as tender and unexpected as the berries. A challenge to overcome. 

She dropped the berry into her basket and wove her arm in again. It was slow work, but the payoff was worth it. Worth a few scratches.

The smell of chimney smoke drifted on the wind. Other things might be worth a few scratches, too. Could it be that she could perhaps have this cozy, quiet life longer than just until the roads cleared and the thaw came? It wasn’t ideal, but neither was putting her father’s title at risk, living under house arrest, or being suffocated at court and not because her laces were so tight. 

That wasn’t fair to Rumple. She knew she could no longer lie to herself and pretend he was just a generous and kind friend to her. What she felt for Rumple was so different from other men who’d courted or asked for her, and was the opposite of what she felt for Gaston, cursed or not. Gaston simply took, and his touch was hard and cold. Even half buried in snow, Rumple had made her ears feel like they were steaming. 

It was so pleasant, so easy, to sit by the warm fire alongside Rumplestiltskin and see his kind face illuminated by the dancing light.

This was what her maids had. For all the long hours of work and scurrying around, they had more than she even as they brought her trays and set her hair in clips and combs. They’d had the freedom to move as they liked, see and speak to whomever they liked, and take lovers as they pleased. No one cared if a maid actually was one.

The winter wasn’t even half over.

At the direction of her thoughts, her arm jostled and scraped across the thorns. The cuts would bleed and need cleaning soon, so she hurried over to the bush Bae said had white berries. 

Snow piled high on the interlocking twists and branchlets, but once she brushed an area clear there were clusters of tiny white berries. They were lovely and no doubt poisonous, possibly as poisonous as her thoughts would seem at court, but pretty enough to decorate a charming circlet. 

Belle felt a moment of shame. She’d been raised to be kept behind glass; that she wasn’t interested anymore didn’t mean she could forget the last service she owed her father and the people of Avonlea. Even so, she would have her life. She refused to live as forfeit. Winter wasn’t even half-over.

A handful of white berries clusters went into the basket and Belle headed home with her basket and snagged shirt. Bae joined her with a basket full of soft green sprigs and twisting ivy.

“What happened to your arm?” Bae asked when he saw the droplets of blood on her damaged sleeve.

Belle’s eyes stayed fixed on her basket and the little thatched roof. “I got distracted in the thorns.” 

Bae nodded wisely. “Papa does that more often these days, too. You should both be more careful!”

…

There were rules about making Solstice crowns, Belle learned that night. You could not make your own for it was bad luck, and it was best if parents made them for their children. Bae did not mention whether it was considered good luck if one’s sweetheart made theirs, but judging by the expression on Rumple’s face when she started his, she took this to be the custom.

“What would you say if I wove thorns in your crown, Bae?” Rumple teased. 

“Why would you do that? That’s not very nice.”

“Maybe poison oak?” 

“What?” Bae gasped. “Is this because I squished the berries last year? I said I was sorry, and the stains all came out!” He pouted and dropped Belle’s ivy laced crown.

“Careful Bae.” Belle warned, and anchored another red berry in Rumple’s crown. “I wouldn’t thank you if I got squished white berries in my hair this year.”

Bae laughed. “Your hair would match Papa’s!”

“Bae!” Rumplestiltskin scolded. “That wasn’t very nice, to me or Belle.”

Bae hung his head, but Belle put her hand on Rumple’s shoulder. “He was only teasing. You threatened to put poison oak in his.” Father and son murmured apologies and Rumple stood to get a drink. Belle joined him by the pitcher and held out her chipped cup for him to fill. “Besides,” Belle said softly from behind her cup. “Would it be so bad if you saw a white hair on my head someday?” 

Rumple’s cup gained a new dent and Belle ran to get a cloth to clean the spilled water.


	18. Chapter 18

Rumplestiltskin called up the stairs. “Belle? Are you ready? It’s nearly sundown!” He'd been harassed most of the day, working to keep Bae from bolting from the house to the festival at the town square. 

“Hurry up, Belle! I can’t wait for you to see your crown!” Bae skipped through the house, trailing makeshift ribbons behind him. He’d needed help cutting the edge pieces of shirting thin enough and Rumplestiltskin had seen no harm in assisting. Bae had done a good job, whispering that he wanted Belle’s crown to look like a queen’s as he wrapped the fabric streamers into the coil of ivy and berries earlier.

“Alright, I’m coming down!” 

By the time she reached the bottom step, Rumplestiltskin could barely draw breath. “So that’s why you asked me for pins.” He said softly. 

She nodded and turned around, showing off her repaired dress and the curls heaped on her head. “I wanted to finish my warm dress, and I wanted to be able to show off Bae’s crown properly.” Belle knelt down in front of Bae. “Put it on?”

Bae crowned Belle, the shabby ribbons twining with her hair and dancing over her shoulders. She anchored the crown with a pin on either side and kissed Bae’s head. The sight made Rumplestiltskin stagger for a moment. She looked like a woodland queen. Or a bride.

Father crowned son with a simple circle of leafy winter ivy and pine. 

Belle held up a ring of fragrant sprigs and berries. “My turn.” Rumplestiltskin bowed low and felt her lower the crown onto his head and press to anchor it. Instead of taking her hands off him, she cupped his face, cool fingertips against his jaw and cheek. “There. Perfect.”

She was so close; he could see the curve of her lips and the way they twitched. Feel the warmth of her. “Thank you.” He stood up, catching himself. He wanted to hold her, kiss her, and the way she looked at him and tilted her chin up said she wanted him to, but…

“Papa! I can hear the music!”

Belle laughed and Rumplestiltskin shrugged. “Bae, get your cloak.” He flung his own on, warmer now for the new lining was whole and soft, and held up Belle’s. She slipped her arms in and, as he folded the sides around her, he chanced a quick kiss on her cheek from behind. 

…

The entire village was in a joyful uproar. Meats buried in coal-lined pits were dug up and set to rest until the feast and children chased each other with straw dolls destined to be sacrificed to the fire, an offering to appease the cold and tempt spring into eventual return. Pipers, drums, and strings rang out and set the crowd bouncing in time. Had Rumplestiltskin not helped earlier, he might have thought the transformation of empty streets and cold darkness to dancing crowds and sparkling lights was magic. 

“Do you do this every year, Rumple?” Belle’s eyes reflected wonder and the lights from the painted paper lanterns. “I’ve seen other Solstice festivals but always from… from a distance.”

“Aye. I usually go, but just to stay near Bae. He was too small to go alone.”

Bae adjusted his crown proudly. “I’m big now. I’m going to the dance all by myself.” He ran ahead and joined a group of children by the musicians. Bae giddily snatched a chunk of roasted meat by the bone and pranced with the other dancers.

Belle smiled sadly and took his hand. “They grow up so fast.” 

They followed to join Bae, but a stout woman cut them off. “Oh my! It’s so crowded here. Don’t you think you’ll be more comfortable somewhere else? Bae is fine right where he is.” 

Before Belle could speak, for her mouth was opening and she was pointing towards Bae, Rumple tugged her away. “We’ll just move along.” He stopped at an unlit brazier near the edge of the curving lane. “Don’t forget, it’s the goodwill of the town that lets Bae come and go. The price is that I, and now you, stay just outside.”

“It’s barbaric. Separating you from you your child.”

“Perhaps.” He allowed. “But it ensures him a future.” Defeated, Belle sat on a broken limb still clinging to its tree. Rumple glanced in the brazier and saw that it had wood. He took a thin stick. “I’ll get a torch. Stay here.”

Despite the occasion, it was still the dead of winter at night. Thankfully, there was no wind but the faint breeze from living in a mountain valley though there was a sting in the air that meant approaching snow. The brazier would keep them warm until they could take Bae home.

“Miss?” He approached the woman who had chased them off. “I’m just going to light the brazier. I’ll be gone in a moment.”

She smirked. “What, your whore couldn’t keep you warm? Go ahead. I’ll not keep you.”

He winced, but wordlessly lit the stick. As he made his way back he wondered what her life might be like were she to stay. He may be a coward, but he was still above a whore. Whether she ever was or wasn’t would never matter here. How would that affect Bae? He was too young to know what it meant now, but what would happen in a few years? 

Bae was such a thoughtful child he would no doubt understand that the words used to shun had little in common with the person, but it still meant even harsher isolation for her than him.

Would a child of hers have the same access as Bae? His hand trembled and shook the flame.

“Here we are.” He joined her by the brazier again. “I’ll just get this lit.” 

Belle smiled and held up a basket. “Ruby dropped this off while you were gone. She thought we might get hungry.”

“She was right.” Rumplestiltskin sat on a taller stump by her side. 

They ate roasted pork, fragrant pie sweet with raisins and sipped heavy winter ale. A stone’s throw away, children danced amongst the lanterns and young men twirled bright eyed girls until they clung for support. Bae waved and patted his belly, then ran back into the fray, chasing after a piper who demonstrated how he would charm the winter cold away with his music.

The fire in the brazier grew and threw off heat that warmed their legs, but being more comfortable made their silence more noticeable. After a few minutes of simply watching the children pantomime and hearing distant chatter, Belle tapped the side of her mug. “So, do you want to talk first, or shall I?”

The fire wasn’t the only thing making Rumplestiltskin feel warm. He swallowed the rest of his ale. “Not sure. It’s been a long time since I’ve had someone to talk to at a festival.” 

“I’m here now.” She scooted closer. Her hood slid down and the little berries in her crown winked white in her dark hair. 

“Yes. But why?” 

“Where else would I be?”

“I don’t know.” Light from the fire cast shadows on his footsteps in the snow. Footsteps with a little dragging line to one side. Like a tail constantly dragged between his legs. “Don’t you have family you should be with? Parents?” He swallowed. “A man?”

Belle tipped the last of her ale down her throat. “Not anymore.”

So she was an orphaned widow. An orphaned refugee widow, perhaps. “War?” 

She tossed her mug in the basket. “In a way.” Curls spilled over her shoulder when she turned her head. “It was complicated. It still is.” The ivy caught his eye, leaves silvery green in the flickering light above blue eyes that held him fast. “What about you? Why have you stayed here, really?”

“For Bae. This is his home. He’s accepted here, can make a living here. Or leave. I want it to be his choice.”

“But you’ve been alone.” Her cheeks were pink with cold, lips shiny and dark. “Are you happy?”

An ugly laugh bubbled up. “I’m not unhappy.”

Belle frowned. She really shouldn’t. He liked the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. “You could move on.” Her words were hard to hear over the crackling flames. “Find another home. Maybe even find love.” She smiled softly. “Start a new family. ”

If only, but he knew somewhere deep down that this was a dream. He would wake and it would be over and he’d be alone. “That won’t happen, Belle.” His dreams were never so kind. 

She leaned close and made it hard to think. Hard to breathe. “Why not?” Her hand was on his knee. 

For a moment, the cold air burned again. “Because no one,” He looked down at himself, the staff, his still too-thin frame, poor clothes, and pathetic place of dishonor at a festival. “No one could ever, ever love me.”

Belle’s knees were between his, lips so close he could taste her. The berries in her hair were quivering. “I could.” Her lips brushed the corner of his mouth and his breath ran away after them. “I could love you, Rumplestiltskin.”

Blood roared in his ears as she turned her face up to him again. He wanted to whisper her name but kissed her instead, cupping her lips with his, hands lost and limp at his sides until her fingers slipped into his hair. He followed her, sliding from the stump to his knees in front of her.

Belle pulled back with her hands still in his hair and on his neck. He leaned over to stay close, nearly laying over her lap to reach her again. He felt her hands release him and so he started to lean away. 

“Rumple.” She murmured, and he felt her touch under his cloak, her knees slid across his belly to his sides and she pulled his shoulders. There, kneeling in the wet half-melted snow by a brazier, with pipes and drums in his ears, he turned his face up to Belle for her kiss. He slipped his arms under her cloak too, and held her tight, parting his lips to let her tear the air from his lungs. She could steal his soul if she wished.

Instead he felt her mouth, soft and sweet, meeting his and tugging at him. Her tongue touched his and he held her tighter. Whether she knew it or not, her legs were gripping him, thighs squeezing his waist and her calves on his flanks. Whatever her man had been to her, he had been lucky.

But they were in the open. Despite the ale-soaked festival, an outcast could not afford trouble and she was already called a harlot. With the knees of his trousers soaked through and cold, he released her lips, kissed her cheek, her jaw, her hair. “Belle. Gods, Belle.” He stroked the soft curls that sprang in his hand and coiled around his fingers. “We have to stop.”

“I know.” Gods above, her lips were red. “We have to get Bae.” 

He sat next to her, their combined weight bowing the fallen limb as he sat close to the brazier to dry his trousers. He held his arm around Belle, lightly rubbing his cheek against hers from time to time. She tucked herself against him like he was capable of protecting her and for a few minutes, he pretended he could. Not long after he was dried and had only a little dirt on his knees, Bae trudged along the path, near collapse with exhaustion. 

They coaxed him home and washed his face. Rumplestiltskin helped him change and tucked him into the furs, knowing Bae would be asleep before the last blanket was laid over him. 

“I should go to bed.” Belle said softly, once they’d finished cleaning the worst of the day’s chaos. “There’s work to do tomorrow and…” She put her hand on the rail.

He nodded, unsure what words were suitable at a time like this. The ale that loosened their tongues and bodies was long gone, but left them altered. 

She made it up three, four steps before he stamped the staff, lurching to make it to the stair. “Belle?”

“Yes?” Her eyes glittered in the low light.

Rumplestiltskin’s hands danced along the wood, spinning invisible threads from the polished grain. “Maybe,” He stammered. “Maybe you could.”

…

…

The leaves on the crowns were turning crisp but hung merrily from pegs over the hearth. Belle was too proud of the ivy crown Bae wove for her to toss it back into the brush, and a fluttering overcame her whenever she gazed upon the now-shriveling berries of Rumplestiltskin’s. 

Belle brushed back her hair and tied it with a bit of twine before starting on the day’s bread. It had been two days. Two days since the festival and the kisses that left her lips redder the next day. She could still feel the press of his lean frame on her body and the way he gathered her in his arms, holding her because it felt good and not because she was an acquisition to be claimed. In stolen moments, no courtier had ever kissed her with so much tenderness and hunger. 

She touched her lips and looked back at the crowns. Bae’s ring of ivy and pine looked almost the same, just a bit spikier. The boy had slept late the next day, leaving Belle and Rumplestiltskin together at breakfast discussing the day’s logistics in between fond smiles and a few brave caresses. After Bae rose, puffy faced and hungry, the two set about working with buckets and armloads of straw. They worked through the day, leaving her to make supper and prepare hot water for bathing as they ran in and out of the back door.

Now there was a rabbit hanging from the rafters and another left outside for later. The cold, which was returning with a vengeance, would keep it fresh. The winds were beginning to whip outside, and a slight draft harassed Belle into wrapping the shawl from the old trunk tighter over her nightgown. Once the bread was rising near the warm hearth, she went upstairs to dress.

The blue skirt went over thick stockings and a warm shift. She didn’t look much different from when she’d left home, but she was so much stronger now. Her father would be shocked if he saw his daughter carrying a large bucket of water in each hand several times a day, or on her hands and knees scrubbing and polishing the floor boards of a lowly peasant.

He’d be more shocked if he knew how she’d parted her legs to allow –nay- welcome that peasant to kneel between them. Shocked at how his kisses made her weak and shaky. With a pull, she tightened the laces of her bodice. She remembered the talk amongst her maids, their more detailed stories. It was gossip, yes, but valuable education for a young woman whose lot in life had, until recently, been to breed.

Men were not so cautiously tutored. She’d wager gold that, by the age of fifteen, Gaston had been thrown to a haphazardly selected woman with instructions to make a man of him and left for a fortnight. After all, treaties and borders were not built on the ignorance of men, but crafted on the promise of a bit of torn skin.

How ridiculous. 

A deep sigh rose from downstairs, then rustling. Belle rushed to finish dressing and tied up her wild hair to start the day’s work.

…

The salvaged onion and some prickly aromatic herb had Bae and Rumple running in for supper before Belle had to call them. They were both mottled and pink from working outside in the cold wind, and Bae pulled off his gloves to dry by the fire.

“Rumple?” Belle called, and saw him lingering by the door. “Let me take your cloak.” He grunted as she lifted it off and shrugged his shoulders. With a frown, she saw him rub his neck and arms, clearly tired and sore. “There’s warm water to wash.” She said softly. “I’ll get you a plate.”

“Thank you, Belle. Bae,” he called. “Wash before you go to the table.” 

As Belle spooned bits of rabbit and a few vegetable chunks into the bowl, she heard the slosh of water and a pained hiss. “Rumple?” She set down the bowl and joined him by the basin. When she looked in, she gasped.

His hands were raw and full of tiny cuts that barely bled, but clearly stung horribly. “Let me get you a towel!”

“No.” He said softly. “They have to soak. Get the fibers out.” Indeed, on the surface of the water floated little bits of splinters and shreds of straw. Wincing, more came free as he flexed his hands and within a minute the top of the water looked like it was covered in tiny needles. 

He lifted out his hands and took the towel, then used the edge to clear the basin of splinters. “Bae! Come wash for supper.” 

Belle watched Rumple through dinner as he disguised his discomfort, face carefully blank as he tore bread or strained to control the spoon with his swollen fingers. She refused to let him help with dishes afterwards, sending him to his chair by the fire with a cup of tea instead. 

While he relaxed, she found the box of salve and finished in the kitchen. He provided for and cared for her, now she would do the same for him.

…

“Goodnight, Belle.” Bae pushed the pallet from the corner just a bit closer to the fire and crawled under the covers. Rumple tucked him in and smoothed his curly hair away from his eyes. Belle loved the way Rumple never failed to tuck his son in, no matter how hard the day had been. They were still in the same room, so it would have been so easy to just say goodnight. Instead, father left a comfortable seat and knelt down, covering discomfort, just to kiss his son on the head and pull the blankets tight.

They murmured softly and Bae yawned, then rolled over, facing away from the firelight to drift off. Belle sat with her cup and waited for Rumplestiltskin to join her again, the salve in her lap and a bowl of warm water at her feet.

He sat heavily. Belle frowned. “Are you well?”

“Well enough. There was work to be done today.” Rumplestiltskin held up his hands. “The king and his men will call soon for their share of it.” He closed his eyes and leaned back. “There will be more tomorrow.”

Belle stood and rolled her sleeves. “I don’t care what work has to be done, you’ll not suffer for it. Give me your hands.” Before he could protest, she sat on the stool and took his hands in hers. They were dry at the edges of the cuts now and would surely split open wider tomorrow if nothing was done today. She shook her head, placed the bowl in her lap and pulled Rumple forward.

With his eyes wide and uncertain, she placed the worse hand in the water and held it. “Why did you not tend this earlier?” 

He glanced between their submerged hands and her face. “I didn’t want Bae to worry. He wanted to help, and we were able to do so much in a single day.”

“This is not an acceptable cost.”

“It is. For the sin in my work, it is my price to pay. I pay for my past and what I inflict. I make-"

She pushed his hand deeper in the water. “Stop. Just… let me help.” Belle had nursed briefly during the wars, but only men well enough to mind their station. Bruises, cuts, and mild injuries she understood, knew the comfort that touch could be even if she had not been allowed to assist any one soldier for long. Her maids and the women of Avonlea would sit with men in pain whose pain did not warrant precious medicines reserved for those with lost or crushed limbs. Sore hands were a misery, even if they were a passing one.

As a test, she held his fingers up and pushed a thumb into his palm. He gritted his teeth. “You don’t have to-"

“Yes, I do. You’re not helping if you ruin your hands for other work.” Belle looked up from his palm and brushed his hair back from his eyes. “I won’t see you hurting.” She opened the box and scraped a bit of salve onto a finger, then mixed it with the droplets of water in her hands. “Here. Let me.”

The fire crackled by them, illuminating his tired face with golden light. Belle lifted his hand from the water and the drops fell musically into the bowl. With both her hands, she smoothed and pressed the softened salve into his skin, lacing their fingers together and drawing them through hers over and over. 

“Oh, thank you.” Rumple’s shoulders drooped as she rubbed the salve at the base of his fingers. It was such a small thing, she thought, this little service to him. He’d done it for her, but that was before… before the kisses and the ale and the burn for him. He’d only meant to be kind to a fellow outcast in need.

How did she mean it?

“Here, give me your other hand.” She guided the one hanging limp into the bowl and continued to massage the first. As salve soaked into his skin, the hardened cuts were able to close. Reluctantly, she released his hand and turned her attention to the next. 

His eyes were closed as she lifted the second hand from the water and set the bowl on the floor. Without it in the way, she scooted closer, holding his hand. As she mixed the ointment with water, he leaned forward, and brushed a hand over her shoulder. “Thank you, Belle.” 

She smoothed the mix into his wet skin. “You deserve comfort. More than this.”

A faint silent tremor ran through his arms. “I… I thought you were a fairy once. A fairy princess.”

Belle smiled. “Why did you think that?”

He leaned his head lightly on her shoulder, nuzzling into the shirt he’d made for her. “You were like a dream. Or a gift. No human would be so kind.”

Belle laced their fingers together again. She didn’t let go. Warmth, he was warm on her shoulder, against her cheek. His breath tickled into the front of her shirt. She sought words, barely able to voice them. “What made you decide I wasn’t?” 

His other hand joined hers, a safe nest between them. Rumplestiltskin drew back so she could see his face, a few hairs caught between them catching the firelight like threads of gold glittering between them. He held her hands to his chest, pressing them lightly against his rough tunic, drawing her closer.

“You’re still here.” 

He kissed her sweetly. Belle’s face went hot and her muscles quaked beneath her skin. In leaning forward, a hand slipped from his and lay on his upper thigh. The reaction to her touch was immediate, and he scooted forward further on his chair, their knees bumping and interlacing as their fingers had. Rumplestiltskin worked to hold her but her dress, his legs, the chair and stool were tangling together.

He was too far away. Nothing could possibly feel right but to hold him as close as she had in the snow. Belle was too low on the stool so she stood, having little in the way of a plan, simply wanting touch. Hazy from kissing and careless in her approach, Belle pushed the stool back and tried to lean over him. Instead, she caught her foot on his, and grabbed at his arm. She stood, one of his thighs between hers.

“Oh...” Rumple breathed. She still held his arm, felt the sinew flex as he raised his hand to her hip to tentatively touch and hold her there. 

She wanted her kisses, and no longer cared for what any court might think of it. She was a woman, and she would hold this gentle man with sweet eyes and strong hands to the core of her body if she wished. Belle lowered herself to rest on his thigh, firm pressure between her legs.

With her breath coming in pants and squeezing her hands, thighs, toes to relieve the heat, the need, he pulled her closer and kissed her deeper, his tongue licking into her mouth, hungry and seeking. The chair made a low creak when she reached to hold him, rolling her body against his leg.

The shock ran from her belly to her ears. It flared like struck flint, sparking and needing tinder. Belle squeezed his thigh between hers, heat erasing the constant unease, the unceasing awareness of kings and gambits. Demons and running were replaced by tension and hands and heat. 

“R-Rumple.” Her lips caught on his, his name dragged out of her. She leaned into him again, eager to chase that spark once more and he wrapped an arm behind her, low on her back. The other reached for her, fingertips raw but soft on her neck, tracing the line of her shirt and the lacing in front. Then he lowered his head, touching their foreheads.

“Belle.” He sighed. The fire crackled, barely denting her concentration. “Belle.”

“What? Have I hurt you?” She looked down. She was on his good leg. “What is it?”

Rumplestiltskin ran his lips over her hairline, then by her ear. “The chair creaks. Bae is waking up.”

As if on cue, a sleepy moan came from the pallet. “Papa?”

The faintest sheen of sweat was on Rumplestiltskin’s face, and his eyes were shining over deep, tired shadows. “Goodnight, Belle. I-” He bit his words off and kissed her before lifting her up and taking his staff to stand. “Goodnight.”

She walked silently to the stair, watching as he banked the fire and put up the heavier grate. She felt languid but shaky, full and empty and tingly all at once. Her soft shift felt harsh on her skin, and sleep did not come easily.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a change in the rating. Just so you know.

Belle barely saw Rumplestiltskin the next day, only long enough to them both to blush furiously in front of Bae as the three of them rolled the biggest pot onto a fire outside for Belle to do laundry. Other wells gave water good enough for laundry and baths, so she put the restless energy to good use and spent her day stirring their clothes with a paddle and hanging them to drip before taking them inside to lay by the fire to dry. She was a whirl of movement, going inside only long enough to start a meal with the left over rabbit stew and the bread dough she’d punched and kneaded into a wad that morning.

She wiped at her brow, sweaty despite the biting cold, and felt the damp cloth her hair was wrapped in. She’d need a bath after all this work. Hopefully she’d feel normal after it all as well. Her skin crawled, so while the third batch of clothes cooked in the pot, she took the axe she’d used on the limb over the roof and hacked at the brush pushing at the fence. Then she dragged it away in pieces and spread it over the ground. 

The last round of laundry was finished and pinned up to drip, and then the stew-filled pasties came out of the oven. After wiping the boards clean and setting out plates, she made tea and sat at the table.

…

“Belle?” She was cold and wet. Was her maid trying to bathe her while she slept again? A nudge made her head roll on something hard. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at her writing table again. “Belle?”

“I think she’s very, very tired, Papa.”

A chuckle. Low and sweet. She loved that sound. She could feel it in her chest and it made her smile. “I think you’re right, Bae.” Rumplestiltskin’s strong hands pulled her up. “Belle? We brought in the clothes and poured out the pot. Are you hungry? Supper is still warm.”

She blinked, head pounding from the change in position. “I’ll get you tea.” She pushed at the table to stand, but he held her shoulders. 

“I saw how much you did today. You’re going to stay right there. Bae,” he called. “Heat some water for tea, please?” Then he leaned over and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry I was gone today. I needed to finish the work I started yesterday. It’s done now.” 

His hands. Belle took one of his hands and found it raw, but clean and treated with salve. “I took care of that myself.” He touched his lips to her ear. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Warm tea appeared by her elbow and she drank, finding that it only loosened her sore shoulders and made her sleepier. A stuffed pasty filled her belly. She stood, wobbling as she cleaned plates, then took the big water bucket and headed for her cloak.

Rumplestiltskin was up from the table and across the room as quick as she’d ever seen him. Maybe she was just moving that slow. His hand was over hers on the bucket handle. “Where are you going?” 

“Water.” She felt sticky. She felt hot and cold and so tired and yet her skin still felt tight and- “I need…I need to bathe.” 

He shook his head. “You need to sleep more. There’s water enough to clean up. I’ll help with a bath tomorrow.” His face reddened. “I mean, I’ll help get water. Not that you need help… but if you did…” Rumplestiltskin’s mouth hung open, attempting sound and failing. 

Belle giggled, her own face burning. “Maybe I could use your help afterwards. I need to wash my hair.” Rumplestiltskin’s mouth snapped shut and he swallowed. 

Belle set the bucket down and got a clean nightgown and a cloth to wash with while Rumple sat by the fire with Bae, who combed wool and set the bundles in a basket at their feet. 

When she emerged from behind the curtain, scrubbed as well as a bowl of water would allow, she could feel the languid sway in her walk. He was busy teaching Bae how to balance a hanging spindle, guiding the thread to the stalk with a twist of his fingertips. Bae, concentrating on his hands, did not look up but Rumplestiltskin did.

He dropped his spindle with a thump and the boll of combed wool broke free. He swore. “Sorry, Bae. Not like that. Keep… keep doing what you’re doing.” 

Belle patted his shoulder as he worked to rejoin the fibers and continue the lesson. “Goodnight, Rumple.”

She could feel his eyes as she went up the stairs. When she knew he couldn’t see her, she imagined she could feel his arms.

…

The winds howled during the night, whistling through the thatch. The chill seeped through cracks in the walls and trickled along the floor as dawn approached, waking Belle with a cool draft across her face. She rose and winced, sore from the previous day’s work. In the shawl from the trunk, nightgown, and thick wool stockings, she crept downstairs and started bread and warming water.

As the dough went from sticky to smooth and the ache in her arms loosened, she glanced past the table at where Rumple and Bae lay. In the faint pink of early dawn that crept in the very few panes of glass in the house, they lay close, completely vulnerable to each other. That sort of trust was only possible when you knew that, whatever dangers there were outside, the place at your side was occupied by someone who would never hurt you.

She never slept so well at home as they did on their rough pallet on the floor. She would never have slept at all with Gaston at her side. With a snort, she admitted that she likely would have never had to try, no matter whom she’d married; they would have had separate rooms, and he would no doubt have kept mistresses. She would have been simply kept, perhaps even more tightly guarded. She would have never known love. 

A maiden’s virginity could end a war, but a queen’s womb could birth kingdoms. 

Belle turned away, sorry to have invaded their sleep with her staring. She set the dough to rise and went to dress. The fire was quite low from the drafts and at risk of going out completely, so she moved the grate as quietly as she could and prodded the coals before setting a fresh log on them.

“Good morning.” 

She looked over a shoulder as she pushed the coals around. He was propped up on one elbow, the collar of his nightshirt hanging open. Belle looked down. “Good morning.”

He spoke softly. “Are you feeling better?” 

“Much. Thank you.” She finished with the poker and pushed the grate back, stifling a yawn. “There’s tea. I’ll have the breakfast ready after I get dressed.”

Very carefully, he pushed one of Bae’s arms off and tucked him under the covers, hauling himself off the floor and limping to his staff. “I’ll start breakfast. You go ahead.”

Belle straightened the shawl and brought Rumplestiltskin a measure of oats. Impulsively, she wrapped her fingers around his arm and kissed his cheek. His whiskers prickled her lips and made them tingle. 

His throaty sound of surprise made her grin. “What was that for?” 

“Because I wanted to.”

…

Rumple took frequent breaks from work to play with Bae, and Belle helped the boy make new games, sneaking in little lessons in mathematics as a way to ease the strange mix of boredom and anticipation. She cleaned and mended until lunchtime, then started heating water for her bath after lunch. 

Bae helped his father pick wool and card it, talking of how much to use for a fine embroidery thread versus one meant for strong seams. When Bae tired of sitting, Belle let him join her outside for a few minutes as she stoked the fire under the big pot. 

“Belle, can we cook my other rabbit tonight?”

She ruffled his hair. “Proud hunter. I think we should use a little of the salt pork and save the drippings to use with the rabbit tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Can you make the pies again?” Bae was hopping again.

“I think I can do that. You must be growing, Bae. I’ll have to tie a brick to your head or your Papa will be sad when you’re taller than him.”  
Bae shook his head. “No one’s bigger than Papa.” Before Belle could laugh, he cocked his head to the side and corrected himself. “Except the soldiers. The big one has to bend over to come in the door!” He shivered and ran back inside.

Belle’s breath caught in her chest. He’d mentioned that, but it was still terrifying. If it did happen, she would just run upstairs, hide under the covers, just as she’d hidden in the town itself. Just burrow a little deeper.

If only she could keep hiding.

She threw another log under the pot and followed Bae.

…

Supper simmered merrily as Rumplestiltskin helped Belle set the tub down in the corner. Throughout the day their glances went from sweet and shy to alternating between nervousness and smoldering. It made her insides jumpy. Rather than feeling calm and ready for a quiet evening, she was wound when she sat to eat supper. Rumple’s normally restless hands skittered over the table and toyed with the edge of his cup, bowl, and flicked at a particular crack in the table. 

“C’mon, Bae.” Rumple got up and grabbed for his staff. “Let’s bring in the hot water for Belle.” 

“I’ll wash up.” She stood and took their plates to the wash basin and cleared the table. Bucket by bucket, the washtub was filled as she cleaned with hands that shook from time to time. 

That he wanted her, she was sure. Gaston had never looked at her the way Rumplestiltskin did, with his heart in his hands as surely as they were in his eyes. All he needed was a safe place to rest it. She told him she could love him. Could she be safe? There was barely a guarantee of a meal the next day, so what was safe anyway?

She was unafraid, though; how could she be? There was no fear of the man who went to his knees for her kiss. Only burning curiosity and the desire to have whatever else they could share. Years had passed since she became aware of herself, though opportunities to explore what that meant had been few. There were always maids in her rooms, guards at the door, and layers upon layers of corsetry and pomp. 

Life was harder as a free peasant, but at least there were no eyes in your walls. 

“Belle?” A touch at her waist. “The bath is ready.”

…

Bae managed to make a few twists of yarn on the drop spindle by the time Belle’s hair was dry enough. The stoppered bottle was already by Rumplestiltskin’s chair, so she pushed the stool between his knees and sat.

“You’ve got it, Bae. Now keep going and try to keep it smooth.” A soft pop, lowered voice. “Did you enjoy your bath?” The heavy curtain of her hair lifted, fingers ran along her scalp to her neck, pushing most of the damp mess over one shoulder, the rest lightly tugged and lifted over and over.

“Yes. Much better now.” She’d dressed as she normally would after a bath, with her nightgown laced up the front and warm wool stockings. She laid the shawl over her lap rather than her shoulders. “Bae is doing well.”

Smooth, gentle tension on her hair. A tangle had loosened. “He is. He could do well as a spinner, if that’s what he wishes. I hope for more for him, but we’ll see.” The finished curl fell over her shoulder. His hand lingered, thumb rubbing her collarbone, before taking another portion. Fingertips kneaded the back of her neck, scraping upward to gather hair into his palm. Her skin pebbled across her arms and back, prickling like thorns and made her aware of every breath that breezed across her skin. 

“Don’t forget to keep the spin consistent, Bae. The yarn will be lumpy and weak in the spots where you go slow, and bind up where you went too fast.” The subtle tugs and plucking in her hair sent trickles of sensation to her fingertips. “You have to find the right speed for the fiber and stick to it.”

Belle moaned softly and Rumplestiltskin paused. “Did I pull?”

“No.” She rested her elbow on his thigh. “It always feels so nice.”

His breathing changed pace. “G- Good.” The back of his hand stroked the side of her neck. “That’s… that’s good.”

Another lock of her hair settled over her shoulder, shiny and smooth. By the time he reached the crown of her hair, she was boneless and pressing her thighs together. One last rough section, at the front, now flopped in her face.

“Bae, time to put your things away. You can work on it tomorrow.” Bae wrapped the unfinished work around the spindle and carefully set it in his work box. 

Rumplestiltskin’s voice was right by her ear. “Lean back. I’m almost done.” He guided her back until her shoulders pressed into his belly, the edge of the chair touching the middle of her back. She could look up and see his chin, just above her forehead. 

He was nervous, breathing through his nose and mouth and concentrating very hard on the handful of hair. His eyes skipped around, though, and she watched them rove from her covered lap up to her chest and the laces holding her gown together. He checked on Bae, who sounded like he was changing into nightclothes and pulling the pallet out.

When he could run his fingers from her scalp to the ends without a catch, he gathered all of her hair and laid it out, falling across his thighs and spilling over the chair. The muscles of his belly contracted against her back. “Beautiful.” He breathed. She felt her lips part at the sound and he looked for all the world like he was going to kiss her, but touched her lips instead, tracing the outer edges with his thumb and sending mad birds into flight under her skin.

He gazed at her, upside down from above. “I’m going to tuck in Bae.” He grazed her face with his fingertips and scooted out from under her. Her hair dragged along his lap and thighs until it fell against her back again, loose and soft. He had not braided it this time.

…

…

Bae yawned and rubbed at red-rimmed eyes. Rumplestiltskin smiled. “Tired?”

“Yes. I played a lot of games with Belle and helped her with the fire and worked on the spindle. I had a very busy day.”

“You did.” He pulled the covers over Bae, stroked the cheek that was strong and rounded, like his mother’s. “Did you have fun with Belle?”

“She makes the best games. Sometimes they’re hard and she makes me do sums.” He wrinkled his nose.

“It’ll help you with the dyes. If you can do sums, you can change the blend more carefully and make what you want.” He pushed Bae’s hair from his eyes. “Maybe Belle can teach you more. Would you like that?”

“Yes. I like Belle. She’s very kind and she likes you.” Bae snuggled down into the covers. Rumplestiltskin moved to get his feet under him, staff angled to stand. “Papa?”

“Yes Bae?”

“Tell Belle to bring in the rabbit tonight so we can eat it. I’m going to use the skin. I may have enough now.” 

Rumplestiltskin kissed his son’s forehead. “I’ll tell her. Go to sleep, Bae.”

The lump under the blankets rolled over and sighed. The idea of Bae having his own place to sleep wasn’t so sad now, maybe. Milah had hardly made an effort to welcome him and often slept on the pallet with Bae, at first because he was a wee babe who needed feedings and warmth through the night. Later it was because she didn’t care for his company. 

Pathetic, she said. Once in a while she relented, and he worked so hard to bring her, to give her what her body needed since she wasn’t so crude as to take lovers until the very end. By then she screamed that she never loved him, that no one could ever love him.

Belle said she could.

He went to the kitchen and filled his dented cup. He could fix it, smooth the angles until the hammered finish was neat again, but he never saw the point. Never had the time. He drank deeply and refilled his cup. 

There was fresh water in the wash basin, still warm. Clean cloth nearby. He nervously made use of it.

Belle was in his chair, feet upon the stool, arms at rest and her hair a shining halo. “Rumple?” 

Feeling his heartbeat in his throat, he set his staff as quietly as possible and made his way to her side. 

“Hey.” The best he could manage. “Are you… tired?”

Half closed, her eyes still flashed like summer skies. “No.” She stood and held out her hand. “Come with me?” 

The light from the fire went right through her nightgown again. She was no girl, only a woman was shaped like that. “Yes.” He took her hand and let her lead him to the stair.

But her belly was too flat. Never blessed with children. Rumplestiltskin knew because Belle would never leave her child behind. She must have been widowed quickly. Perhaps a rushed wedding, a hurried honeymoon before he left for the front?

Gods, she may have only done this a few times. 

He needed his hand back to climb the stair, though he left his staff leaning on the rail at the bottom. He had followed Milah up these stairs, sometimes eager, sometimes scared, but always a little numb, for he knew it was only a matter of time before she stopped asking. 

Light from the lamp downstairs filtered in lines across Belle’s side and back as she climbed. This was Belle. Belle the refugee, the outcast, the woman who was just like him, perhaps. He let her name slide on his lips as she reached the top.

She stopped, hand on the last few inches of rail. He climbed, holding his weight off the bad ankle until he was two steps behind, her shoulders at eye level. The gown fluttered. She was breathing fast. His heart was pounding.

“Belle.” He reached and touched the well-worn nightdress, soft from washings, pushing the loose folds until he touched her waist. The curve of her hip. He traced back up, across her back and into the slope of her spine, the roundness of her. Her flowing hair trembled.

Soon after marriage, Milah had enjoyed these moments. Later, she grew tired of him, frustrated at his slowness and wanted him to hurry, finish her so he would too and she could go do something else. Belle stood perfectly still, neither demanding more nor shrugging away. Rumplestiltskin stepped up.

He did not grab and hold her to him, but pushed her hair aside and let his lips rest at the base of her neck. Belle moved and her hand reached for his free arm, grasping at the wrist. She settled his hand at her waist. 

“Come.” She said quietly, and stepped into the narrow walkway around the bed so he could join her in the loft. Very little light made it to this side of the open room, just enough to see the outline of her face, the red-gold shine in her hair, and the strings that tied her gown.

Without his staff, his limp was pronounced. He took one hopping step towards her, causing the boards to creak. She scooted closer and grabbed his shoulders. “Careful!” She pointed towards the space below. “Don’t wake Bae.”

Another blow of reality, but she was looking at him with wide eyes that kept creeping to his lips. Hesitant, she came closer, wrapped her arms around his slim body. Nothing lay between them but a few layers of thin cloth, he could feel the way her curves hugged him. The bed was only a foot away, and yet a wide chasm from kissing to there remained.

Belle seemed to not care. She sat on the edge of the bed, her bed now, and scooted to the middle. There were two pillows. The chilled air blew here and Belle was lifting the covers. “Rumple?” She held up her hand. 

Her chin quivered, lips in a tiny smile and the little strings dangling from her gown, loose, unknotted. 

She could.

He took her hand, slid under the blankets to her welcoming arms. “My wife left years ago. I’ve not…” He tried to explain. Maybe she was braver. “Has it been long?”

Belle’s mouth fell open. Closed. “I… yes?” He knew it must have been three or four months at the least. Longer if her man had been away. They would have to go slow. He lay on his side and pushed her hair up and over the pillow and kissed her neck, feeling the soft skin under his lips and nose. Belle’s eyes were shut, mouth open and breathing deeply. Her curving jaw fit between his lips and he followed it up to her ear, kissed her cheek, and was met by her open mouth, pulled by her hands fisted in his tunic. He stopped himself from falling onto her, grasping her hip and holding on, for she was the anchor and harbor to his rough seas.

She licked at his mouth, taking his breath and replacing it with a low moan. He brought his hand up, along her ribcage, skimming over the fabric of her gown. When he drew back, she let him move away but kept her hands on him, like she truly did not want him to go. Rumplestiltskin pushed the blankets down to her waist, and took an end of the tie of her gown. He glanced at Belle, propped on her pillow. 

She watched him, his hands, intently. At her tiny nod, he tugged the bow free and looped a finger through the first set of laces. Her chest rose and fell swiftly, ragged breaths that nearly matched his own. Smooth skin, unblemished by sun or harshness, was revealed with every set of eyelets, but he did not open the sides. At the last one, near the bottom of her ribcage, he stopped, leaving the cord free. 

Through the nightgown, in the low light, he could see darker points prodding up through the fabric. He gently palmed her breast, stroking over the gown and lightly squeezing. She arched, still grasping his shirt, and pushed herself into his hand. He laid his mouth over her, feeling her through the weave, letting his warmth replace the cool air.

Her gown was beginning to fall open as she writhed. The inner curves of her breasts were uncovered, the edge of laces hanging at her nipples, leaving them hidden. Gods, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to feel her and hold her, but not rush her. She must have lost so much, his sweet Belle.

“Oh, sweetheart. Please,” he skimmed his fingertips between her breasts. “Let me?” Her eyes opened and looked down, widening at the sight of his touch, his hand on her. With her breath shuddering, shaking her body, she released his tunic and lowered her arms to nudge the sides of her gown away.

It was too much and it knocked the breath from him. His dark skin in the middle of so much of her; pale bare breasts with darkened, pointed tips. He ducked and lay on his belly next to her, his arm over her hips and propped on the other elbow, and kissed the creamy skin over her breastbone, pressing his lips against the soft curve, and finally took her breast in his mouth. 

She sighed and hugged his head, crushing his nose into her before letting go and scraping his scalp with her fingers. Her legs began to flex and he thrust himself against the mattress. The other breast filled his mouth and he suckled, drawing her deep until he heard, felt, her gasp. He loosened his breeches.

Hands kneaded his neck, shoulders, pulled on his arms. “Rumple… please. I…” 

He pushed up and kissed the words from her sweet mouth. Tried to lick his name from them, taking her lower lip between his and taste the flavor of his name there. Milah never called his name in passion. Belle begged him with it.

With his breeches halfway off, he lay by her side again and palmed her, pushing his hardened cock against her side when she grabbed at his tunic again. He lowered his hand from her breasts to her belly, over the gown and slowly dragged it up. She could stop him if she wanted, he wouldn’t mind much. If she wanted to just bring herself or have him use his hands, he could do that. That’s all Milah wanted at the end. He knew how to do that.

Her knees were tight together but restless and she rolled her body under his hand. When her gown was at the top of her thighs he stopped, tucking his hand under the edge. Touched the outside, then the tender inside of her thigh. She parted a fraction, and he went higher, stroked higher until he felt curls.

She gasped, and dug her fingertips into his chest. Puffs of breath hit his neck over and over. He touched her again, parting and grazing. In the low light he could see her face flushing pink. Her lips were plump from kissing.

Another kiss, and another, she was hard and demanding. One hand released his tunic and took him by the forearm, guiding him to touch more. Her legs finally opened, knees wide, and he pushed his trousers off completely. Belle’s hands were on him as he held the covers up and climbed over her. She reached under his tunic, skating over his skin, squeezing and holding. The pink crept to her chest, and he lifted one of her knees, careful to keep them covered and not let her get cold.

He’d never dared to get this far in his thoughts. The idea of Belle underneath him had been too much, was too much, for him to handle. Her thigh on his flank, overwhelming, and the feel of the tiny spasms along her body where he settled was a sensation he couldn’t handle. They were nothing compared to her heat.

Her body was blooming where they touched. She was scorching, slick, made his eyes roll.

Lips on his cheek, neck, mouth, a nip at his shoulder, nails on his back. His cock was tucked against her, nested by her warmth, but she made no move. Milah would have grabbed him by now. 

He reached between them, slid himself against her and touched his forehead to hers. He was tightly nestled against her from shoulder to hips, her legs wrapped around him. A wonder. 

He would not care what life was like if Belle could stay. Stay with him. Stay here in his home, as his lover, wife, anything. The word lover made his whole body clench and he thrust without meaning to. She jumped. “Belle?” 

Unfocused eyes met his, throaty gasps, her entire body in motion beneath him with no coordination. “R-Rumple.” Belle sought to tug him down, but Rumplestiltskin resisted. He pressed against her. Her eyes flew open again and she arched up, repeating the motion from underneath. Something wasn’t right.

“Belle,” he ground out, finding himself now at her threshold. “I need…?” Her movements and breathing had him dipping into her shallowly, grazing her molten sex, coating him. “Belle, how long?”

She groaned as he propped up on an elbow, her breasts bare and in hard, dark points. “I’ve… no.”

A cold blade knifed into him. “You said you had a man.” She pressed up at him, her hot, slick body grasping at him. Maidens didn’t want like this. Milah… he pushed her from his mind. 

“I broke,” she gasped and pushed up at him again. “Engagement. Please, Rumple.” She pleaded, taking his hand and cupping her breast with it, pulling him down with her legs. His head sank into her softness.

“Gods, Belle.” He moved his hands to her face, holding her flushing beauty, innocent passion. “You shouldn’t do this. You can’t.”

Belle stilled for a moment, and he felt like he might have convinced her. Before he could reluctantly pull away from her, abandoning her precious gift, the right of another man, she grasped his shoulders. 

“Yes I can, Rumple.” Her legs flexed hard. “I can.” Muscles rippled against him and he sank down, sheathed in heat and soft and wet and tight and oh gods. “I can.” She repeated, gasped, into his ear. 

He cried out, rocking into her body, and abandoned any semblance of skill he wanted to give. She held on, letting her body move with him, dragging and sliding and biting her lips and his shoulder and holding him as tightly as anyone, no one, ever had before. 

Men who were loved had this; the warmth and sex and welcome. They got muffled moans in the dark of night and the scent of their woman wrapped around her brains. They got hands under their shirts grabbing at them and the scratch of nails on their skin.

She said she could.

Belle arched beneath him, in his hands. He followed and ground his body against her, feeling her spasm along his cock as her lips opened silently, eyes squeezed shut. Her sheath squeezed, clasping him and freezing him in place as he clenched his jaw, not wanting it to end. 

Against his will, his body thrust once, twice, into the warm well of her. She pulled him down by his neck and licked, bit at his lips until his body tightened. He found release, pouring into Belle all the love in his soul. She held him as he shuddered and gripped her hard enough to bruise. He was thrown, bewildered, and humbled when he collapsed against her, unable to hold his weight for the shaking and she wrapped her arms and legs around him once more. Kissed his forehead. He drifted, head nestled against her heaving chest.

“I do.” She whispered once more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you notice this is a bit shinier than previous chapters, thank Luthien. She has graciously offered to beta and I know the story will only benefit. 
> 
> This chapter is a little short. The next is... longer.

Hot and cold. 

In the small hours, Rumplestiltskin smiled in the dark loft and felt contentment for the first time in years. On one side lay a woman, almost too warm, bare skin pushed against his and sticking in places. On the other, his arm was flung behind his head and nearly numb from being   
left in the draft.

And he really didn’t care. It could fall off. 

He smiled. That might make spinning complicated.

He got up carefully, rubbing his tingling arm and doing his best not to disturb Belle. She rolled onto her back as he moved away and her nightgown fell open again. Aware all too soon of the chill pebbling her skin, he closed the sides of her nightgown over her bare breasts and pulled the covers over her. His soft trousers were in a heap, but he retrieved them and quietly made his way downstairs.

The water in the basin was frigid, but he cleaned himself and warmed up by tending the fire. As he cleared the worst of the ash and settled a large log in the coals, he felt the stirrings of hope again. They were dangerous, but more tempting than sirens. The last time he’d felt this he learned that a purse with something in it meant nothing if no one was interested in doing business with him. Despite his improved means, his village, his home, was a harsh place.

Sunlight off snow could blind a man as fast as staring directly at the sun. If Belle was reflecting some hope, he might be grateful for a time.   
Bae snuffled in his sleep. Rumplestiltskin gave the fire one last prod. Hope would not feed or clothe his son but, for a little while, he could be blinded by her.

…

Rumplestiltskin woke for the second time feeling almost as content as the first. The sun was about to rise and there was work to be done, even if he could feel unfamiliar tenderness in places long ignored. It was surprising.

The scuffed kettle went by the fire, stoked to warm the house before Bae and Belle rose, and he started a pot of porridge for breakfast.

He arranged wool and bobbins for the day’s work. The harsh winds showed no sign of letting up, so they would probably be unable to leave the house to go further than to fetch water. 

There was scuffling upstairs and Rumplestiltskin’s heart hammered in his chest. Would she come down with a smile? Would she refuse to leave her bed and demand to be left alone? Milah spent two days abed after their wedding.

Wedding. 

He shook his head. Taking Belle’s innocence meant nothing. Kind, pretty women could always find husbands, and if she decided to move on come spring, well… there was little he could do to stop her. 

A creak from the loft above had him jumping up, staff in hand, and making his ungainly way to the base of the stairs. The same place they’d stood and gone up the night before.

She was wearing blue. She was radiant.

“Good morning,” he whispered once her feet reached the floor. “Are you… well?”

Belle glanced towards Bae, smiling shyly. “Yes. Very well.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hands roved over the nearby table, his staff, the stair rail. “Good. That’s… good.” He really wanted to grab her, hold her, carry her back upstairs, hide under a bower with her or waste time picking flowers or writing songs to her. Instead, his always restless hands kept gravitating nearer, hesitant arms opening, until she stepped close and gave them a place to rest.

… 

He would need more rope. There would need to be enough for a good delivery so Hordor and his men would not linger. It had been a risk to meet them at the tavern once; Rumplestiltskin was not so reckless as to attempt it a second time.

Belle admired his new rolls of fine thread. “Rumple, it’s as if the light comes to the thread. Like it loves to touch the strands!” She held a filament up and watched light dance across it. “It’s almost like it was alive.”

“It just comes out that way. Even when I dye it.” He shrugged. He just knew how to spin. “I don’t know what I do that’s special. It just does it.”

“Will you teach me?” Belle asked. 

He loved the idea. It would take months and months to teach her. There was no better excuse to wrap his arms around her or have her nestled against him. “Of course. But not today.” He stood and took up his cloak, then lingered over her, kissing her forehead. “Today is for   
other work. I’ll be back.”

The rope twist was outside, affixed to a large tree now, as well as hemp he’d already prepared. The cold would do him good.

…

A few days later, his hands were mostly healed, thanks to Belle fretting over him and insisting on slathering the cuts with salve again. Rumplestiltskin wasn’t about to complain. She’d sat between his legs and rubbed his hands until they tingled two nights in a row. Bae seemed not to notice the increase in touching, happy to have his Papa more relaxed.

Supper ended and Belle finished cleaning the table while Rumple and Bae combed handfuls of picked wool. The idea was intoxicating, to teach Belle to spin. They could work side by side, raise Baelfire, sell their work at bigger markets, perhaps even settle elsewhere. They could get a loom and weave fine fabrics, or a few frames and begin tailoring. They could live and love…

“Belle?” He ventured. “Would you like to try to spin tonight?”

She wiped her hands on her apron and picked up the last washed bowl. “Really? Are your hands well enough?”

“Well enough for anything, sweetheart.”

Belle’s smile tugged at something deep inside him. When she turned to put the last bowl away, Rumplestiltskin rubbed his chest, trying to calm the strange and wonderful churning within.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, the polish is entirely due to the gracious efforts of Luthien. We discovered that I was not taught to punctuate dialogue correctly. A pox upon my teachers!
> 
> Thanks also to audreyii_fic, who provided input regarding this chapter's... events. :)

Bae laughed the first few times she tried to feed the wheel, managing to make a mess that had to be cleaned and recombed rather than coarse yarn. Belle had watched people spin, but never had to do it herself.

“This is harder than it looks, Rumple!” she said in response to their giggles. Her first yarn was lumpy.

“You’re doing fine!” he bit out. Bae’s laughter was infectious.

Belle huffed and made another attempt. “I bet you never made Bae do it all on his own at first.”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I did. I wanted him to first see how much was going on, then teach him every step one at a time.” Rumple took a sip of tea and nudged Bae to go finish his. “You learn more by being wrong.”

Belle slowed down the wheel and concentrated on her twisting. “You keep saying that. After an hour, I still can’t push the pedal and pull the wool at the same time.”

Rumple chuckled and kissed her forehead. “You’ll learn. I promise.” He set his cup down on the work table. “Let me put Bae to bed and I’ll help you.”

Belle made a noise of frustration and stopped. She’d lost her concentration and pulled too hard, shredding the line of fluffed wool apart. The half-formed thread zipped out of her hands and flipped through the wheel. It flapped its fluffy end on the bobbin, mocking her. She muttered an oath and heard Rumplestiltskin stifle a laugh across the room. Dropping the handful of carded yarn back into the basket, Belle made a rude gesture at the wheel and Bae and Rumple both laughed.

“Quiet, both of you. I’m going to have some tea until your Papa can help me, Bae. I amuse him to no end, it seems.” She took her cup and, fingering the chipped edge, sat by the fire to await her lesson. Maybe this was a bad idea. Patience seemed the key and she was headstrong. 

She might as well try to force the seasons to change, though, since the festival, a part of her would see this winter never end. Being shut up here with Rumple and Bae could not be so bad a thing. She could happily spend the rest of her life loving and being loved.

Except…

If clerics came, then what was the point? If King George’s kingdom fell to clerical rule, then no one was safe. And, despite his gentle failings, she loved her father and would have him know that she still lived.

“Belle?” 

She started, nearly spilling her tea. “Yes?” 

Rumple looked nervous, tapping the side of his cup. “Do you still wish to spin?”

Realizing she must have been scowling, she gave Rumple a smile. “Yes, though I think you’ll find me a poor student.”

“I doubt that. Come on.” He set his cup on a shelf and pointed to the bench of the wheel. “Sit.” 

Belle walked around the bench and sat as if she were on a sidesaddle, both feet on the pedal and twisting so her hands could reach where the new thread would feed into the wheel on the other side of the bench.

“Stop, Belle.” Rumple rubbed his lip with his thumb. “You’re never going to be comfortable that way. Sit astride the bench, not upon it. Your back should not twist and your shoulders should not strain. If they did you could not spin for long.”

Belle put a leg over the bench and hitched her skirts up. 

“Good.” Rumplestiltskin swallowed. “Much better. Now, show me the wool you were using.” 

The boll of combed wool was too big. “Here, you can take half of it lengthwise.” He gently parted the fibers and dropped one to the basket. “And you haven’t pulled it before spinning. This makes it too thick, and you’ll have too much feeding through at once.”

She sighed. “I thought I did pull it. Bae showed me.”

“Here, it’s hard to explain. Let me show you.” Rumple sat behind her on the bench and slid forward until they were close. He was around her, a sudden twin cupping her hands and touching all along her arms and at her back. “Take the wool and hold it in your hands. Like this.”

He held her hands in his and helped her apply pressure to the puff of strands. “Now pull gently, but let it slide when there’s resistance. You don’t want to make a weak spot by thinning it too much.”

With her heartbeat in her throat, Belle let Rumplestiltskin’s fingertips guide her, the fibers slipping and catching through their hands. How strange that her life had prepared her for receiving noble guests and arranging banquets, but not for the caress and touch of another person. 

All too quickly, the wool was evenly thinned. “There now,” Rumplestiltskin declared as he held it up. “I’ll just get the broken end.” He leaned forward, bringing his face next to hers. Belle leaned to let him by, but their bodies tangled as he groped for the shredded puff on the bobbin. “Um, sorry.” He sat back down and took her hands again. “Now, erm, join the ends and twist.” 

Belle tried to do so, but with her heart racing and her face burning she was making more of a knot than a join. “You make it look too easy,” she grumbled. He chuckled softly and reached around her middle, his wrist grazing her waist. Belle felt a tug in her middle.

“It is easy. You just need practice.” He tucked his arms under hers and reached to take the wool, then unwound her work and demonstrated. Rumple extended his leg and pushed the pedal lightly to set the wheel in motion, pressing the inside of his thigh against the outside of hers. “You can’t force the wool into thread. You have to let it form.” His breath touched her ear. “Put your hands down and watch.”

Completely encircled by him, Belle watched his hands guide and command the tension in the forming thread. As it left his fingers and wound over the wheel it effortlessly formed fine, even thread with him hardly looking. He rested his chin on her shoulder.

“That’s amazing,” she breathed, watching the thread grow from coarse frizz into fine filament. Against her back, Rumplestiltskin tensed, then sighed, clasping her closer with his whole body. When he turned his head and pressed a tiny kiss to the back of her neck, Belle leaned into him.

His voice ragged, he murmured, “Now try.” His hands trembled as he guided hers back to the wool. With her attention fraying, Belle took the wool and tried to coordinate her foot upon the pedal, but Rumple leaned his leg against hers to guide her on the pedal. “No, just concentrate on one thing.”

The thread elongated, but went thicker, so she pulled it, shredding out fibers and trying to copy the motion. His hands moved to guide hers again, applying the pressure through her fingertips. Rumplestiltskin scooted forward, into her, pressing against her from neck to foot, using his body to tell hers how to work. 

She stroked one of his wrists with her thumb, and his hands tightened, fingers clenching around the fluff of wool. “Belle?”

Belle could feel him, pressed hard against her back, the sinew in his shoulders flexing minutely as he worked. She swallowed and struggled for words as the yarn flew through her fingers unchecked. “I can’t.” She laid a hand on his thigh and his breath caught.

His foot slowed and the wool barely moved in their hands. Rumple slid his grip away from the work, up her arms, and down her sides. “My sweet Belle.” The soft whisper made her heart sing. When he rested his cheek against her neck, she dropped the wool. “Beautiful Belle.”

There was no grabbing and no demand in his motions, so Belle reached back and ran a hand through his hair. “My Rumple.” 

He moaned quietly. “Please, sweetheart. Say that again.”

Self-conscious now, Belle whispered more softly, knowing he would hear for his ear was right by her. “My Rumple.”

Rumplestiltskin held her tightly and pushed with more purpose against her. “Oh gods, Belle. Sweet Belle.” He kissed her cheek. “Kind Belle.”

She held both of his thighs, admiring their wiry strength, unassuming and undecorated by wads of muscle. What good was power if you could not be gentle as well? Rumplestiltskin’s lean frame twitched under her touch. “Rumple, are you… Can you…?” Her question hung, dangling like a sign off one hinge.

“Belle, do you… do you want to-” His breaths gusted down her arm. “I swear I’ll be so good to you, Belle.” 

Never had such raw honestly been heard at court. Suitors never promised tenderness. Though a good man, even her father couldn’t commit himself to ensuring her happiness. There might be labor here, but there was softness, too. The heart of a poor, rejected spinner was so much richer than any coffer offered for her. 

She took his hand and guided it to her breast. “Lie with me, Rumplestiltskin.”

…

Belle knelt upon the edge of the bed and held up her arms for her Rumple to fill. He stood upon one leg, resting a knee by hers. Even like this, he wasn’t much larger than she, unlike the suitors she’d known at home. With them she would have lain back and thought of babies, doing her best to ignore the feeling of being crushed by boulders.

Rumple did not crush her, but reached slowly and brushed her hair off her shoulders. His slim body and small frame suited her, hidden though it was beneath his clothes. She wrapped her arms around him and sighed into his chest.

He kissed the top of her head. “Whatever I have done to earn this, I pray that I never fail at it.” 

“You are yourself. Is that not enough?” Belle sought out the laces of his shirt and, remembering how he’d touched her, kissed him where they opened. 

“No, it isn’t,” he ground out. “Never enough. I cannot give you the things you deserve.” Rumplestiltskin’s upper body twitched under her lips as she kissed him again. “The things you should have.”

Belle’s hands were unsure, but her heart wasn’t. She carefully unlaced the first few eyelets. “I can decide what I deserve.” The cord slipped through the last few holes and dangled. She lightly tugged his arms. “What I want.”

He followed her onto the bed, carefully pushing off his boots so they did not make noise when they were set upon the floor. She loosened her bodice and dropped it to the floor. Her full skirts followed, laid over the rail with a swish. It left her in a borrowed winter shift, thin but soft from years of wear, and her stockings. Belle shivered in the chill, so she tugged the covers loose and climbed in the bed.

Rumplestiltskin, still kneeling on the bed, stared at her with a faint smile. He glanced at the vacant side of the bed.

Belle, propped on one elbow, turned the covers down and Rumplestiltskin slid in beside her. “Forgive me, Belle.” He said as he traced her shoulder through the gauzy shift. “I have no gift for words and no grace to deliver them with.” Her breaths came quicker as his fingertips drifted to her neck and pulled her ties loose. “Even if I did, I have little time to spare.”

Sensing his anxiety, feeling the way his hand began to shake at her breast, Belle took his hand and placed it firmly at her hip, barely covered by her shift. “Shush.” His lips, still trying to form words, were stilled by her kiss. 

How could she tell him all she had learned these last months? Not just how to survive and live and work, but that living was not a matter of pretty words or schedules and ledgers. That was life in a castle, surrounded by counselors and committees and hangers-on. Real life, life worth living, was made of moments. Beautiful moments full of sweetness, laughter and kindness. Painful moments jagged with fear, disappointment and anger. Now, she knew tender moments of loving, when lips did more than speak and bodies more than work.

Belle lowered her free hand under the covers and reached for him. At her touch, bold yet gentle, he drew a sharp breath against her lips. Recalling his tender caresses, the way he’d made her feel, she copied him, drawing his tunic up until she touched bare skin. Felt how it slid over his hip, danced under her touch.

“Share this time with me,” she murmured against his neck.

He cupped her cheek, drawing her to face him, looking like he was about to burst. Whatever was in his heart, he feared it and this was not a time for fear. Belle gave it no room, instead draping her arm over his side pulling him closer. Rumplestiltskin kissed her, opening his mouth and she did the same.

Mouths and hands grew more urgent until she pushed him over. He was doubtless stronger than she, but he rolled, eyes wide and roaming over her unlaced front. Belle bent over him and kissed his chest, tugging open his tunic and trying to offer what he had done for her. His back arched, pressing his head back into the pillow.

She remembered something else he did that night, something that still made her thighs clench and her insides leap at the thought. Belle lowered one hand towards his hip, brushed over the waist of his braces, and lightly sought him out.

“Gods, Belle,” he panted. As she touched him, no doubt too gentle or clumsy, he thrust against her. He reached and pressed into her hand firmly. “Oh, yes.”

Belle’s head spun, her hands full and occupied until Rumple released her and pushed her arms to the side, easing her onto her back. “Please, Belle. I want it to be good.”

“It is good.” She nudged his side with her knee, inviting him closer. The edge of her shift, dragged by her leg and catching in the covers, rose high on her thighs. When he held her leg, guiding it around himself, she was bared against him. Heat flared in his eyes.

“I would make it better.” He pulled the covers over his head and ducked down, crawling against her legs until he settled between them, warm breath against her prickling skin. His nose skidded over her middle, lips just touching her belly. Pauses became kisses, causing her to twitch against his lips as the ends of his hair brushed her sides.

Fingers slid over her, through the softness between her legs and up again until she shuddered. Then something else, infinitely warmer, rasping and seeking, touching her and…

“Rumple-” she moaned. She wanted to melt around him, have him everywhere at once. He drew her into his mouth and suckled, sliding his tongue over and through and over again. This was a moment. This was what beauty and goodness was, not being crowned and covered in silk. It was having someone who wanted you like this and wanting them the same way until…

Every muscle contracted and set her legs shaking as her body flooded, overflowing the banks. She couldn’t draw breath; her body was too alight with heat. His hair tickled the insides of her thighs and he stroked her as her quaking slowed. Belle’s breaths came in deep gasps as Rumplestiltskin kissed his way up, raised her leg to his side, and slid into her. There was no resistance from her body, no burn, only the feeling of fulfillment and joy at being with him. Of seeing the way his jaw went loose and his eyes squinted, knowing that she could give this to him. That he found comfort in her as she did in him and that they might dare to name this feeling with words.

But not now.

He thrust forward, closing his lips to quiet his moans and muffling hers with his kiss. She raised her other leg, cradling him as he settled some weight on his knees and shifted within her.

“Move with me, sweetheart,” he rumbled into her ear, and used one hand on her hip to guide her. Belle moved in counterpoint, swiftly drawing sweat as skin heated once more, and Rumplestiltskin’s breath went ragged and hoarse.

Belle held his shoulders, rising to meet him a final time as his body jerked, arms giving way. “My sweet Belle.” He kissed her neck and nestled against her side. Their breathing slowed, limbs tangled and skin still radiant against cool darkness. 

“I swear,” he slurred, drunk on exhaustion and his release. “I swear, in the… spring…” His words trailed off as he held her close, finally giving in to sleep.

In spring, what? He could not know, but what would spring hold for Rumple? She knew what spring held for her. Though at least another month away, the spring meant saving her home, possibly at the expense of her own happiness. Could she cost Rumplestiltskin his as well? If he was as content as she, then how could she hurt him, take this away? 

His breath ghosted over her skin, sighs of complete relaxation which he’d not had much of for so long. She shivered and pulled the blankets to cover them both, content to let his cheek rest against her exposed breast.

She could tell him, but that put him at risk. At least for now, should anything happen, he at least could plead ignorance, and that would protect him where law was concerned, if not the clerics. It wasn’t a lie, for she’d never told him she was anything other than a woman who was cast-out. 

He’d never asked.

His hair was soft under her hands and where it fell on her shoulder. Sleep would not come easy this night, she knew. There was simply too much to consider, too many things pulling at her mind and keeping her eyes open to the night chill.

Instead, she stroked Rumple’s hair and smiled when he mumbled her name in his sleep.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Luthien for her wonderful beta work. This chapter needed her help.

For three days, the blowing snow kept them indoors, huddled against the howling cold and using lengths of twine to mark the path to the nearest well. For three days, Rumplestiltskin spun his finest work when he wasn’t glancing towards Belle, whistling despite the miserable conditions and near confinement. For three days, Belle hummed tunelessly and absently patted his thigh or drew her fingers along his arm or neck as she passed.

For three days, Bae watched the adults with passing curiosity as he strung new snares. “When the weather gets better, I’ll snare a whole bunch of rabbits!” he said, eyeing his nearly complete fur coverlet. “I just need two or three more and then Papa can help me sew the rest!”

Belle glanced over at Rumplestiltskin. “Really? Are you sure you’ll have enough to sleep under?”

“Oh yes,” Bae said. “And if I grow to be as big as Papa, then I shall have to catch more rabbits.”

They both laughed. 

…

The dull whistle of wind had sent her to sleep for so many nights that when Belle awoke on the fourth day, her ears were ringing. The quiet was so strange that she ventured to open the front door before even stoking the stove.

She squinted. “Rumple! The sun is out!”

Bae, already busy gathering his snares, was barely stopped on his way to the door by a reminder to eat first. Rumplestiltskin stepped behind Belle and looked out at the sparkling drifts over Belle’s shoulder. “We’ll have to clear the path ‘round the house.” He kissed her neck. “It might keep Bae busy. Then he can set his snares?”

Belle giggled. “Maybe another hour inside won’t hurt.”

“Bae! The shovel is by the door!”

…

Much of the day’s remainder was taken up by heating water for baths and hoping the snares caught something. Bae was sent to the tavern for bread and brought back two loaves, a couple of eggs, and a chunk of roast that Belle saved a piece of to enrich the next day’s beans. Three days of porridge and little else made her appreciate the luxury even more.

And yet, it was not intolerable. She could bear so much more as long as Bae’s laughter was in her ears and Rumplestiltskin was in her arms.

The baths warmed chilled toes and Bae was sleepy as soon as he was dressed again. “Papa, I want to play one more game with Belle.” Every third word was interrupted by a yawn.

His Papa chuckled. “You can play all the games you want in your dreams. Now off to bed. I’ll tuck you in.”

Belle watched father and son enjoy their nightly rituals as she picked through a few tangles in her damp hair. Bae snuggled into the blankets over the bundled pallet, clutching a few of his finished furs as Rumplestiltskin patted his son’s head. She never intruded on this sacred time, the only time she still felt like the guest in Rumplestiltskin’s house. His life.

The staff thumped back and he settled beside her. He held up the oil bottle and patted the stool. “Ready?”

“You don’t have to. I don’t want to trouble you.”

“If it was trouble I wouldn’t offer.” He looked at the bottle, fiddled with the stopper. “I would do it every night if you wanted.”

Belle felt tingly. “You would have me heating bathwater every day? I’d accomplish little else.” She sat upon the stool and scooted until she felt Rumple gather her hair and begin to work.

“Fair point. I’m rather fond of your cooking.”

She elbowed him gently. “Little wonder. I’ve had yours.” 

“There’s worse,” he chuckled and smoothed out a tangle. 

“Doubtful.” Belle sighed as he stroked her scalp and finished a section. “But if there is, I’ve no urge to go find it.” 

Rumplestiltskin’s hands paused. “Good.”

…

…

Blessings were curses and curses were blessings, and only fairies could make sense of it all. If Rumplestiltskin’s lot in life was to live as a rejected outcast, then at least he had his son, Bae. If he’d found favor somehow and Belle wished to remain, then she was condemned to live in isolation.

And if he could gather the courage to ask her to stay? Not just stay, but stay with him. As his… what? 

The cowardice in him reared its head. He might have to defend his claim one day, if Belle ever descended into drink or gaming at the tavern. But Belle could not, would not. His marriage to Milah had been half arranged, half accident; the youngest daughter in a pack of them with no dowry and hardly more than the clothes she wore. If fate chose to dump her on the spinsters’ doorstep, then they were hardly passing up the chance.

But Belle hadn’t been dumped on him. At least, not at first. She smiled and was kind before she was put out. Had they courted? Did a few cups of tea and a bit of string count as a lover’s offerings?

He recalled his meeting with Granny, behind the tavern. She said Belle had been riding and only stopped when she could go no further.   
Would the shoots of spring carpet their wedding or her departure?

He plucked a filled bobbin, smoothed down the end, and loaded the next. Was this how his cowardice would create havoc for him this time? Because he feared her leaving, he would fail to prevent it? 

Would this lovely woman stay for him? For his son? Cook and clean and mend for them, all the while with little to hope for beyond what he already had? He would have to be able to promise more. Could he abandon the village, his home, and strike out with his meagre savings and goods, hoping to plant them in more favorable ground?

And if he’d planted his own seed in her? What then? A new start, a new family, if she was willing.

The wool slid in his hands and wound itself into a delicate cord. 

He could take a new name, cast away the chains forged by this one. He had enough lumber to build a small cart and, with some time, wheels. He could salvage enough to buy the iron and they could move everything and abandon the house, or give it to Belle’s friend at the tavern.

No one would buy the coward’s home.

The back door jiggled and Belle pushed it in, Bae in tow. Snow frosted her skirts. “Rumple! Bae has lunch!” Bae ran in and set out three plates as Rumplestiltskin slowed his wheel and let the loose wool drape over the bench. Belle slung a few clean, wet shirts, stockings, and trousers over the grate and stair rails before drying her hands. “Bae says Ruby gave him the bread and a few slices of meat pie.” She grinned. “I hope you’re hungry!”

As grateful as he was, this could not continue. What would happen if anyone found out?

He walked to the table. “That’s very kind, but-”

“Papa, here’s your plate!” Bae proudly set the cold pie on the table and got out cups.

“I’ll make tea!” Belle said merrily. “We can have the bread with the last bit of butter tonight. Bae is going to check his snares later and see if we have tomorrow’s supper yet.” She kissed his cheek and went to check the kettle.

Gods, how he loved this. But why did it feel brittle as cracked glass? He was afraid to look too closely, for even looking could make it collapse.

As they were about to sit, the sound of hooves outside grew louder until it was like thunder. Rumplestiltskin stood frantically and grabbed Belle’s hand when they halted outside the house. 

“Upstairs, now! Not a sound!” 

He hopped to the grate, grabbed Belle’s stockings and flung them into a mending basket as Bae snatched her cloak and threw it into a cabinet. Voices from outside rumbled and grew closer.

“Belle!” Rumplestiltskin whispered harshly up the stairs. “Skirts!” 

The two skirts left over the railing to dry were quickly drawn up and soon the rustling from the loft silenced. 

As the door shook from the heavy, thumping knocks, Rumplestiltskin and Bae glanced around the room. It had changed since the men were last here, but there was no evidence to announce that a woman lived there. Not that he could notice, or do anything about it now anyway, so Bae dashed off to hide.

“Spinner!” Hordor called through the door. “Your chimney billows, man. I know you are in!”

The door creaked on its cold hinge. “Sorry, sir. I was across the house and, well…” He tapped his staff. “Got here quick as I could.” That would cover his heavy breathing, he hoped.

Hordor brushed him aside but stayed just on the landing, looking around. “Your boy is recovered, yes?” 

“Oh, yes. It took a few days of-”

“I don’t care, Spinner. Do you have rope? I’m afraid the asses are running short. Their donkeys need some for leads, as well.” Hordor laughed and struck him on the shoulder as if they had shared a great joke. Rumplestiltskin winced and shuffled to retrieve the rope. “The Clerics insist on making their whips with used nooses, but cannot abide the blood stains they acquire later. If my men made such waste I would have their hides for boots.” 

As Hordor smiled, Rumplestiltskin pulled out a coil and handed it over for approval. “Ah, excellent batch. The clerics will be pleased, or they will be once I can reach them. The storms have slowed us and we find that even the King’s roads are blocked off. It will take some weeks before they are clear of the drifts and fallen trees. The passes through the mountains are cut off to all but the strongest.” Hordor brushed his mail hood and pocketed a twig that came loose.

Rumplestiltskin kept his eyes away from the stairs. “Do you have need to travel past them?”

“Indeed, I do. Now that the King has returned from his…” Hordor thrust his chin out and smirked, “his travels, I must return to the Marchlands and report to the Marquis that his trip may be altered depending on the roads.” Hordor shoved the rope into the bag and tossed the usual bag of coin. Copper and silver splattered across the floor, skating further since the rug was up for Belle and Bae’s games. “With the end of the wars the King grows bored and wishes to put the matter of the uprising and the missing girl to rest.”

Turning away from the glimmering coins, Rumplestiltskin frowned. “Missing girl?”

“The Marquis’s daughter. The one who broke with Sir Gaston and freed the Dark One. La Fille de Marquis Isabelle Marie deFiler Patrie, or Lady Isabelle if you haven’t got all damn day. Took a horse and ran. Where to, no one knows.” Hordor rubbed his chin. “She’s got a claim to the throne, if she’s mad enough to make it.” He snorted. “Might be, heading out into the winter like she did.” Hordor’s gaze circuited the room again. “Are you taking in stranded travelers as well?”

In horror, Rumplestiltskin realized they had left out the third place setting. He thought quickly. “N-no, sir. My boy, he misses his mother. Still insists on setting a place for her at the table. In case...” He swallowed. “In case she comes home.”

Hordor narrowed his eyes. It sent a sting of fear up Rumplestiltskin’s neck, but at last he nodded and picked up the bag of rope. “Tell your boy I’m glad he’s better.” He flipped his hood back up and adjusted the chain mail of his chest piece. “And tell him to keep his heels down when next he rides. He’s liable to pitch over the neck of that beast he was riding. He should watch my men and see how it’s done.” 

Hordor swept out the door and threw the rope to another mounted soldier. His horse reared and took to the road, the rest of the soldiers following behind, kicking up mud and leaving swirls of misted breath in their wake. 

Rumplestiltskin rested his forehead against the door.

Isabelle.

Belle. 

How could he have not known? A woman alone, refugee, fine cloth and a horse, her otherworldly unawareness of things? He housed a noble. Rumplestiltskin bolted the door and turned to the stairs. 

Belle’s eyes were red, tears streaming down her face as she stepped sideways, edging around him. “You make the rope?”

He’d bedded a noble. “You’re a lady?” He planted his staff on the floor and shuffled. 

“My gods, the men…” she buried her hands in her hair. 

“I’ve harbored a fugitive from the King?” 

“There was hardly anything left of them.” Belle voice wavered as she moved closer. “You make the rope that tears men’s flesh from their backs.” 

His jaw ached as he ground his teeth together. “You ran away and brought your trouble here.” Rumplestiltskin circled, gripping his staff 

“They were going to use those whips on me,” Belle whispered fiercely. “My people. They still might.”

“All I want to do is keep my boy safe-” his voice caught.

Belle pressed her fists to her chest. “Thousands of people.”

“And give him a life.”

“I had no choice.” Simultaneously they spoke, their words in perfect synchrony. 

Belle’s chin trembled, and Rumplestiltskin sighed. Now was not the time. “Bae?”

“Papa?” Bae came out of a low cabinet by the back door. 

“Bae, cut some bread for us?” He pulled her chair out and took the kettle off the hob, forgetting to use the cloth but not caring because it was the lesser of hurts. “We can’t let supper go to waste.”

...


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for reading. Many thanks to Luthien, who takes time from her own writing and beta work for others to help me with my story. She is generous with her time and vast talents!

...

Word came from travelers at the tavern that the roads were blocked. A dozen were stranded and would stay that way at least until the road to Longbourne was cleared, longer if they needed to travel to the coast. Belle’s heart throbbed in her chest at the thought.

The soldiers stayed close. Every second or third day they announced their presence with hooves as they thundered by the little house while Belle and Rumplestiltskin gritted their teeth and pretended they were calm. Bae became their messenger of sorts, delivering twine to the tavern and returning with a few coins and the latest news. Sometimes he brought a few sausages or eggs as well, but generally it was just tidbits of information passed through the filter of a seven year old boy’s questionable attention span.

Belle closed the door behind him one day, a week after Hordor’s visit, and hung his cloak for him. Rumple was still sitting at the wheel, as he was when Bae left. “Well, any news or was today quiet?”

Bae eyed the adults then set his bag on a chair. “The travelers grumble. They hate being stuck here, especially since they say the King is at court. Some think there should be more men working to clear the roads to Longbourne. A horse can pass, but no carts.”

Rumplestiltskin stood and walked to the table to get Bae a snack. “They would find better accommodation, I suspect. We have only the inn.” Belle watched as Bae glanced from her to his father. The week had passed in near silence, both adults unsure and in shock. The boy must have been confused.

Bae took a large bite from the buttered bread and spoke with his mouth full. “Some of the townspeople have taken in the stranded. A few soldiers, too.”

Soldiers had taken up residence in the village. Belle looked up at Rumplestiltskin, his fingertips tapping restlessly against his staff.   
Bae took another bite. “Belle, is there any honey left?”

…

Belle had not understood why her maids worked tirelessly to keep mirrors shining and the glassware spotless during the Ogre War, only to collapse every night in exhaustion. Now she twisted a rag in her hands and scrubbed at the sticky spots on the table. Then she wiped down the chairs, the stair rail, the shelves, the cabinet doors and tenderly polished the small table between the chairs by the hearth. All the little surfaces that gathered dust or drips of tea. Places she and Rumple had sat and talked or laughed.

To even look made her heart ache. So she cleaned them.

All the while, Rumplestiltskin spun, never raising his head.

“Are you thirsty?” she asked, and set the kettle on the hob.

“I’ll make it.” He stood. “Why don’t you sit?”

“I don’t mind. I was already up.”

Rumplestiltskin awkwardly dodged around her, got out the cups and generally made her presence obsolete. She sat, feeling useless for the first time in a long while. When he brought her cup, it rattled on the saucer.

…

Belle’s hair was getting brittle again, but she was afraid to ask Rumplestiltskin for his help. To avoid making matters worse, she had not washed her hair in several days.

He knew, though. Belle had caught him looking, his eyes full of sadness and want. He’d looked like that before --months before-- and she had chased those shadows away for a time. Now he knew her shadows, so why didn’t that bring them closer?

Barriers. Barriers in her mind and heart were made of rope and blood. His were made of a lifetime of hard work that could be for nothing at the whim of cruel people. Stupid cruelty, like the villagers and their way of ignoring him and treating him like a pariah, had left him skittish and wary. But then there was a more insidious, dangerous cruelty; the calculation of others like her. No, not like her… born like her. Born into lace and satin instead of old clothes worn soft enough for a baby’s skin. It was the nobility that had robbed his village and others like it. The whims of the warm and well fed made life harsh for others. Rumplestiltskin was probably right to fear the trouble she might bring. 

He produced the rough materials others used for ill to feed and clothe his beloved child. Had she truly done any better? She’d had months to think, and given who and what she was, there was little more she could have done. She had saved her town once, now she had to save her father to keep it safe. 

That was the why, but if she was willing to look past the rope to the man who refused to let his son starve or suffer, then surely he could look past the imagined finery and privilege she’d walked (run) away from. And yes, she’d risked bringing trouble to his door, but the soldiers taking up camp in the village must already know, for the women in the village did nothing but talk. If they knew and did nothing, then she was not a wanted outlaw. 

Belle sighed and slipped the needle between the loops of shredding yarn and drew them together. Her warmest stockings were wearing fast. This was the third time she’d mended them. Maybe she could ask Rumplestiltskin to make her enough wool yarn to make new ones. Or perhaps she could spin her own yarn?

Her face heated and something pulled within when she thought of her first lesson at the wheel. She’d practiced, more with Bae’s help lately, but Rumple had watched from across the room. There was no mistaking his desire to be there with them, but he held back and scraped a rabbit hide to soften it instead. She missed him.

Winter was more than half over. Once the roads were open, King George would relieve his boredom and summon her father. And she would follow. What happened after remained to be seen.

Her stockings would have to last another few weeks regardless.

…

…

The edges of the dried pelts were tough and would require quite a bit of work to soften, so Rumplestiltskin and Bae relaxed by working the nearly finished furs in their hands, gently tugging and rolling, folding and bending until a section was supple enough to move to the next. After Belle chased him out of the kitchen after lunch (it seemed wrong that she was washing up after him) he and Bae settled in the corner where Bae had his furs drying or stretching.

The stack was impressive. Bae been working on it for months. Every rabbit he snared was almost complete now, and he’d have a very handsome coverlet to show for it. 

“I’m so proud of you, Bae. This is a lot of work and you’ve done a very good job. Are you sure you don’t want them for anything else?”

Bae did not look up from his work. “Nope.” His answer had not changed since he started. “I’ll be very warm at night! Besides, it’s not big enough for both of us.” Bae stopped working the skin. “I’ll make more snares for the spring and make one for you and Belle!”

Rumplestiltskin nearly swallowed his tongue and began to cough, dropping the pelt he was working. Belle had not looked up but was scrubbing slower. “Why,” he cleared his throat once more and spoke lower. “Why would you do that?”

Bae finally set his work down. “I thought you liked Belle.”

She was humming to herself. Rumple still lowered his voice. “I do, but that doesn’t mean… It doesn’t mean we…”

“Don’t you want her to stay?” 

He sighed. “It’s complicated.” Looking for words, he scrubbed a hand down his face and then scratched his head, his hair flopping about. “Everyone has a place in the world, you know, and we all understand the rules. There are rules that apply to people who live in castles, rules for people in towns, and rules for poor little spinners in villages that no one leaves, and the rules for one don’t apply to the rules for another and they don’t really mix. Understand?”

“No.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hair was a bird’s nest by now. He’d need to tidy up after this. “You know, when we make the dyes, and sometimes you see the oil floating on the water? No matter what you do, the oil and the water will never, ever mix. You can stir it up and smash the oil into tiny drops. They seem like they mix for a while, and the water gets cloudy and you think it’ll work, but if you wait just a while the oil comes right back to the surface again in one big drop. Just like when you started.” 

When Bae nodded, Rumplestiltskin let out a relieved breath. “So you understand now?”

His son stopped nodding. “No. I thought you liked her.” He started working the leather again and Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders dropped. Bae continued, “But you need a few drops of oil for most dyes. You can’t grind dyes in water or they never wet. And when you’re dying the thread, the few drops of oil don’t matter, and some need oil to set the dye and make the color shiny anyway.” 

Bae stopped crumpling the pelt and looked at his father. “Papa, do you think Belle would like her furs dyed?”

…

Once Belle and Bae started to play their games, Rumplestiltskin took up the buckets and trudged out the door. Bae’s laughter was enough to coax her into smiling and he wasn’t sure he was ready to face that.

He couldn’t run from her forever. Or even a few weeks, it seemed. They’d exchanged only functional words and done chores together, but it was becoming obvious that he was the one running away while she invited him closer.

For two weeks, he had feared she would simply be snatched away, but from Bae’s news it was clear that the soldiers were waiting. For what he could not fathom, but it was bound to hinge on the thick snow and ice covering the mountain passes and valley roads. When those roads cleared, she would be gone. 

Maiden or not, abdicated or not, she was still a strategic figure. If some knight, lord, or prince really wanted her, they would not care what condition she came in. Only a fool or a scoundrel would demand that such a beautiful and gentle woman be virginal.

But then, he’d overheard her describing court life to Bae. 

The well in the square was deserted, so he walked carefully and took his time wrapping the handle with the rag.

Rumplestiltskin knew Belle would fare no better as the wife of a noble. Even in a poor village where the work of women could be more valuable than that of the men, once claimed as a wife, a woman in their realm might as well no longer be a person. 

Most of the village blamed him for losing Milah, saying that he should have reined her in or taught her where her place was. But Rumplestiltskin had been raised by a pair of strong women, and knew that to do so would have taken something that did not belong to him and never had. 

Would his Belle find herself cruelly yoked, her hands tied with golden bracelets and her mouth silenced with velvet? Even discarded once she had served her purpose? Rumplestiltskin knew there must be larger machinery at work than he could be aware of. Did Belle know, too? Or did she still think she could simply walk away?

He heaved the bucket to the ledge and set the hook on its peg. If he was careful on the stones, he might manage to keep his pants dry.

...


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, many thanks to Luthien, who takes time from her own writing to help others with theirs.

Rumplestiltskin returned from the well at the town square and set the bucket down to hang his cloak. He heard the wheel spinning and smiled. “Bae, are you practicing thread or making more tw-” The words died on the way out of his mouth. 

Belle was sitting on his bench, Bae kneeling beside her and guiding her motions. “Papa, Belle can make yarn!”

Belle blushed, grimacing at her hands. “I’ve made something that resembles yarn.” She stopped and rolled her shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind.”

His tongue was thick and clumsy. “No, not at all.” The bucket sloshed as he set it on the counter. “Don’t let me interrupt. Please.” Supper was simmering and most of the day’s chores were done. If Belle was finished spinning later, he might try to get ahead on his next delivery, but there was no rush since the roads were blocked anyway. 

He filled the kettle with water and got out the tea.

Before the water could finish heating, Bae grew tired of tutoring Belle and left to play and work on his furs. Rumplestiltskin’s mind coiled around his conversation with Bae. Oil and water might not mix, but little could be done by one without the other. If necessary, oil could be skimmed without a trace. 

Nearly. Two things combined could never be completely separated. Streaks of residue that blurred glass. Chipped cups and bright blue dresses.

Steam rose as he poured water into the pot. “Would you like some tea, Belle?”

She looked up, startled. It was the first time in days he’d spoken to her first. “Yes, thank you.” She started the wheel again, but even slower than before. When the tea was ready, he carried her cup to her and set it on the work table, all the while trying not to disturb her as she tried to spin.

The woolen yarn she had spun was inconsistent, but no worse than Bae’s when he started. He sipped his tea and tried not to hover.

“You probably think it’s terrible,” she said quietly. “I’ve made a mess of it.”

“No, no. Here, you change this for thick yarns.” Rumplestiltskin set his cup down and adjusted the tension. “You’re doing rather well.” The change in the pull caused the yarn to jog and the strand became warped. Belle swore under her breath and tried to modify her work, clumsily pulling and twisting at the wrong time.

“Wait.” He plucked at the wool uselessly, then pivoted to sit behind Belle before letting himself back away. “Like this.” He took her hands and guided her fingertips, helping to pull and measure the wool as it slid through their hands. With his chest against her shoulders, he felt the change in her posture as she stiffened but did not pull away. The deep breath she took pressed her warm body against his chest. In his distraction, the yarn slipped from the track. It spun round and round, tangling itself around the drive until the wheel bogged down and stopped.

They stared at the fluffy snarl, her hands still intertwined with his around the torn tuft of wool. He felt glued to her, frightened but unwilling to move lest any change tear his skin away. 

He swallowed. “I’m not sure I can untangle this and straighten it out.”

Belle turned her head, brushing her cheek on his shoulder. “Can we save it?” 

“That depends.” Her hair brushed his nose. The curls were limp and dry from neglect. “Is this just for practice, or did you have… plans?”

She breathed in and sighed, but before Belle could answer, Bae came bounding up to them, waving handfuls of his furs at them. “Papa! They’re ready! Can we sew them today, please?”

He leaned back and dropped the shredded wool back into the basket as he hauled himself up. “Coming, Bae. Get the thread basket.” His question would keep, for a few hours anyway, as he taught Bae to measure and stitch the skins. 

When he looked back, Belle was still at the wheel with her skirts rucked up to spin. The tea must have been cold, but she was clutching the cup anyway.

…

Supper was put up and all the washing done. The extra hot water from making evening tea warmed the basin for Bae to scrub himself before he climbed into the pallet. The large pot of water was steaming on the hob for Belle’s use before bed, and she always warmed enough for two. 

Rumplestiltskin had grown accustomed to this little luxury. Fresh cloths to clean himself, too. He needed to be careful, because it would only make it harder when…

She was sitting by the fire, and with all the chores done for the day there was no excuse to not sit with her. He could spin, but he didn’t particularly want to. Not after earlier today. He’d cleaned the clump of wool from the drive, but left Belle’s yarn on the spindle and the frayed end hanging loose. 

With the damaged piece removed, the two ends could be carefully rejoined and spinning could carry on.

He sat with her by the fire and set his tea on the table between them. “How are you?”

“I’m well. How was Bae’s sewing?”

“He did fine. The needles for sewing leather are big, so he can work fast.” Rejoin and carry on. “I could hardly slow him down. His coverlet will be done very soon.”

“Hmm.” Belle sipped her tea and pulled the stool closer. She looked straight forward at the hearth and took a deep breath. “Stockings.” 

“What?”

“Stockings,” she repeated as she turned to set her cup on the table. Next to his. 

It was very late. He might have misheard once but not twice. “Stockings?”

“Yes.” She hitched up her skirt and propped her foot on the stool. “I’ve had to mend these three times already and they might not last the winter. Mine are far too light for the cold and the only other pair is too fine to wear every day.” 

Those must have been the ones Milah wore when they were married. He shook his head and stared down at Belle’s leg.

“I-I wanted to learn to make yarn so, maybe, you could teach me to make my own.”

He swallowed hard. “You could have far better ones soon enough.”

“Perhaps.” A flick of Belle’s wrist and the skirts covered her leg again. “But would they be as warm?” She took up her cup again and sat back. 

Rumplestiltskin peered into his cup and swirled. “A lady in a fine house wouldn’t need them.”

“You’re right. She wouldn’t.” Belle tipped her cup and walked quietly to the kitchen. His chair creaked as he turned to watch her. When she finished washing her cup she went behind the curtain and prepared for bed, rinsing the basin for him when she finished before walking towards the stairs.

She was just behind him, near where she used to pause before kissing his cheek and bidding him a good night. His only opportunity.

“Belle?” 

“Yes?” She stepped to the side of his chair and bent. “Yes, Rumplestiltskin?”

He reached out and ran his fingers over her thick braid. It felt coarse, like his rope. It shouldn’t feel like that. “Your hair. Tomorrow, if you’d  
like, I could…” His hands began to dance and twitch. “I could help…”

She caught his hand and held it. “I’d like that. Very much.”

…

His son was fast asleep by the time Belle came from her bath with her hair damp, her face pink from scrubbing. It had been more than two weeks since Rumplestiltskin had done this for her, and a mix of embarrassment and shame made it hard for him to look her in the eye as she crossed the floor to the stool. After Hordor’s last visit he stopped setting the bottle out, and she never asked.

He’d set it out tonight. He owed her this much, this small service. 

She smiled shyly as she pushed the stool closer. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Rumplestiltskin set his cup on the table. “How was your day?”

“Busy.” She sat on the stool sideways to him. “I washed and mended some of Bae’s clothes and shoveled around the edge of the house. I bumped an icicle with the shovel and it hit my arm, so I knocked the rest of them off the house.” She laughed ruefully. “I didn’t know that the ice kept the snow on the roof. I had to shovel again before I made supper.” 

“Bae could have helped,” he said as he looked away. He uncorked the bottle with a sigh.

Belle turned her back to him. “You were helping him sew his furs. He was too busy. Besides,” she lifted her hair and let the glowing mess settle over his lap, “I had this to look forward to.”

The tangle in his stomach loosened and he gently ran his fingers through her badly snarled hair. “This might take a while.”

She glanced back and smiled, her cheek gilded by the firelight. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He felt his lips pull into a faint curve as he sat up straight and shook a few drops of oil into his hands. “Good.”

By the time he finished the third section she was leaning her head back in his lap with her arms resting on his thighs, toying with the fabric of his trousers.

It had been far too long since he’d tended her hair this way. It would take several sessions more to have it as shiny and soft as it was before. Rumplestiltskin admired the curve of Belle’s neck and recalled her words: It was something to look forward to.

Belle was nearly asleep when her finished, her head resting on his thigh and her hands clasped, just propping up her chin. He used to stroke her cheek or kiss her, but he wasn’t so sure about that now. No matter how much he itched to touch and hold her, this could be a tenuous treaty. Battles moved borders frequently.

“Belle?” He nudged her shoulder. “I’m, uh… done.”

Sleepily, she rolled to the side slightly, smiling up at him. “Okay. I should probably go to bed.” Belle hauled herself up by the arm of his chair, then helped him stand. She didn’t let go once he was up. “Um, thank you, Rumple.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied. He glanced down at her hands in his. “You’re always welcome.”

He didn’t even see it coming, she as so quick. Before he could shy away from her, she had a hand on his shoulder and her lips on his. Lips that were firm enough to make him pay attention, but much too soft and staying too long to be a mere thank you for the favor. The hand on his shoulder caressed his neck.

Then it was gone, leaving sharp cool air behind as she stepped away. “Good night, Rumple.”

She made her way to the stair as his voice found purchase again. He was still afraid of her, of what she might do, but so long as the snow was piled high he could hardly complain. Not when she smiled at him from the stairs.

Not when her kiss still tingled on his lips. Spring could wait a little longer.

…

Bae insisted they close their eyes, despite the fact that they even knew exactly what meals each fur signified, never mind the pattern he’d sewn them into. 

“Okay, open!” Even knowing, Rumplestiltskin and Belle both clapped their hands and offered their congratulations on his achievement. Bae had managed to own every part of his product, from the twine that made the snares to the warm and surprisingly luxurious fur coverlet he proudly held up. 

“Oh Bae, it’s splendid!” Belle gushed, admiring the warmth. 

“That’s good work, son,” Rumplestiltskin added. “Your stitching will last a good many years.” He had his arm around Belle, her hair soft and silky under his palm. 

She was smiling up at him again.

“Bae.” He pointed to the pallet and his son climbed in, proudly arranging the fur over himself.

“Papa, I made sure there were extra bricks by the fire for you and Belle,” Bae said very seriously. “You must take care not to catch a chill.”

“Thank you, Bae. But we’ll be all right.” Would they? Hard to tell. “It’s late and we need to work on thread tomorrow.” Rumplestiltskin knelt down and gave his son a kiss goodnight. “Sleep well.”

“I will, Papa.” As they turned, Bae sat up. “Good night, Belle!”

Belle blew Bae a kiss. “Sleep well, Bae.” He refused to lie back down until she kissed him goodnight as well.

…

His metal cup had acquired new dents, but his fingers have polished a shine into them. The largest of them made a groove that suits his grip. Belle gave a quiet smile as he rubbed his thumb over the bright patch of metal. 

“There’s plenty of warm water left.” She cleaned her cup and set it back on the shelf. “Bae is sleeping so soundly, I think I’ll just go to bed.” 

Rumplestiltskin glanced down at the lumpy patchwork fur on the floor, Bae nestled underneath. Rumplestiltskin grinned tiredly as he heard faint snores drifting from the furs. It had been a mad couple of weeks, and the tension of the day had weighed on him. He’d not slept away from Bae since Milah left, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready.

Ready for what, he was still working out.

Belle kissed his cheek. “Good night. Come sleep when you’re ready.” She tiptoed up the stairs, hardly a squeak as she went up, her hair swinging in a soft braid for bed.

Tending her hair had thawed the space between them, but it didn’t change anything. It left him feeling helpless, as if the woman he loved needed him and there was nothing he could do to stop the tide that threatened to drown her. If he waded in with her, he’d surely drown as well and take Bae with him. 

She could remain a friend, in his mind if nowhere else. She would be taken back to the world she came from and he would return to his silent, lonely life where all was done for one reason and one reason only and he was happy for it; happy to have purpose.

There might have been an invitation in her eyes. Another man might climb those stairs and steal some happiness, but he was not another man. It would probably only hurt worse in the long run. Better to sleep in the chair. It will leave him sore and bruised, but it would feel familiar. His outsides would match his insides.

Belle was probably waiting, so he stood and washed up at the basin, grateful for the warm water. He might have to get into Belle’s habit of leaving pots of water on the hob in the evening. He took the dregs of the tea and poked the fire, banking it for the night and setting the grate close. After scooting his chair closer, he sipped and pondered, ready to make a mental list of all the things he would miss but not getting past bright blue eyes that smiled at him while he untangled a halo of hair.

The fire felt warm and the flames softened to a glow, and though his thoughts drifted he never dropped the cup. The dents suited him very well.

...


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this took awhile. Blame me, but certainly not Luthien. Without her beta skills you'd be scratching your heads more often at my unsaid and skipped thoughts. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The scrape along the floor woke him. Belle sat in her chair by his side, the last traces of firelight tracing gold over her shape. His neck was stiff but his hands weren’t asleep yet. The fire had long since stopped popping; now there was only the sound of moving air with the occasional crackle in the seething coals.

“It’s the middle of the night, Rumple.” She spoke softly, her voice rough with sleep. “You fell asleep in your chair.”

He gulped the dregs in his cup, grimacing at the tang of old tea. “Sorry.” His eyes were dry. Rubbing only made them feel gritty.

Belle watched silently as he flexed his chilly fingers. She sighed and folded her hands, gazing at the glow behind the grate. “The first time I saw you I thought you had the saddest eyes I’d ever seen.” 

Rumplestiltskin looked up, shaking the fuzz from his mind as Belle continued. “You didn’t care enough to protect yourself in the cold, but you smiled back at me. That was when I _thought_ you might be the kindest man I’d ever met.”

The bottom of his cup was wet and he stared very hard at the tea streaking over the pewter. He heard the stress on the word. It could only mean that she was done with him. Maybe she would find Hordor tonight.

“And now that I know you, know what’s in your heart,” Belle hesitated. He gripped the arm of his chair and felt the wood grain digging into his fingers. “I am certain you are the kindest, most loving man in the world.”

The cup splattered the remaining droplets onto the grate and his breath caught on the ragged edges around his heart. Words tangled and died as she took his hand gingerly from the safe distance across the table. In his mind there were confessions he wanted to make, proclamations he would shout and words of honesty he would breathe into her ear and nowhere else. His fine words scrambled and the best he could manage was her name.

In response, Belle gave his hand a tug as she rose, and Rumplestiltskin scrambled to get his feet under him to follow. The tap of his staff on the planks sounded muffled through the rush of blood in his ears as she led him to the stairs. He was cold and a bit stiff from sitting in his chair for too long but warmth spread through him at her touch.

“We did our best with what we had, Rumple. With what was done to us.” They paused at the foot of the steps and Belle turned, looking every bit the woman he knew… loved? He shook his head, sure that the sleep was fogging his mind. He searched her face but saw only her resolve. A muscle in her jaw stood out, then she drew a deep breath. “But no one chooses our fate but us.” 

Her bright eyes, shining in even such dim, dull light, held him fast as she watched him for a reply. She needed something from him, some acknowledgment that she wasn’t alone. She deserved as much and so much more. He wished he was brave enough, bold enough to say what he felt. With a rail to lean on for support, for his legs were wavering, he managed to form words, if not a complete thought.

“Are you…?” He searched her face, could feel his own contort with emotion. 

“Yes, Rumplestiltskin.” She laid a hand on his arm. “I am your Belle.” She tucked her head so her forehead bumped his chin. Immediately, he kissed the skin against his lips, breathed in her hair. When she stepped closer, she took his free hand and kissed his palm and fingers. 

The rail at his back held him up as he set his staff at the foot of the stair. The way his heart thumped in his chest was almost frightening as Belle turned her face up. With unsure hands, he stroked her soft hair, touched her temple, and traced the curve of her jaw and cheek. Her lips were sweet and soft, her hands warm and tender on his neck and face as she held him, refusing to let him see her as anything other than as she was.

Staying one stair ahead of him, Belle led him to the loft. Belle looked back at him every few steps, but this time, there was no sweet nervous smile, no giggling grin. The playfulness was gone from her and for a moment he feared that she was caught in a trap—feeling either obligated or helpless.

But Rumplestiltskin knew the difference between despair and determination. She wasn’t trembling or quaking as he once did. If she was despairing, she showed no sign. The steady climb, the eyes that never failed to meet his weren’t desperate. Away from the stairs, shuffling over the planks in the loft, he followed her to the foot of the bed. 

“I…” She stopped, swallowing hard. “When I left home, I thought I could do whatever it took, that I could do it alone. Now I know what it feels like to not be alone. Please.” Her shoulders shook. “I don’t want--”

“Oh Belle.” His speed surprised them both. Before she could finish her thought, Rumplestiltskin had wrapped his arms around her. The movement left him unsteady on his feet but unwilling to let go to correct his footing. “Belle, sweetheart. You don’t have to.” 

Before they lost their balance, Belle braced his weight, twisting and compensating for his bad leg to support them both. This wasn’t despair or weakness, it was strength. Dry brambles splintered and fresh ivy buckled under strain, but one wrapped by the other could bear a man’s weight.

In the closeness of their embrace, there was no more room for waiting. No more room for words. They sat together on the bed, Belle’s grip on Rumplestiltskin tightening as he held her shoulders. Their bodies twisted, reaching, and he let his lips graze her forehead. “If this is a dream…” Gods, she filled the space in his arms so well. “If I wake and I’m downstairs on a pallet, promise me that I won’t forget.”

Never leaving the sanctuary of their embrace, Belle pulled her legs up, dragging the nightgown up to her knees, and tucked herself against him. “If I wake and find myself in a castle, I will leave again to come find you.”

If Milah’s lies had been enough to slake his thirst, then Belle’s truths would drown him. Their kiss grew wet and hungry; weeks of waiting, fear, and uncertainty had left them adrift. Belle took handfuls of his soft tunic and pulled at him, half dragging him until they lay side by side. The sound of breath played over their ears, and swallowed moans were loud in the silence of the small hours. 

“Rumple,” she groaned as she pushed his tunic up and off. The chilly air made little impression as he opened her gown. Belle palmed his lean chest and pushed him onto his back. Soft light from downstairs barely illuminated gold and pink outlines in her hair, arms, and the breast left exposed by her loosened gown. The tip was firm to the touch, and a jolt ran through him at the shivering pressure in his hand. 

The bedding was folded back on only one side, and Belle helped him maneuver into that side; it was still warm from her body. Heat seeped into his joints and loosened his tongue, made him lightheaded. He traced her collarbone. “Please.”

“Yes.” Belle slid close and pulled her nightgown over her head. She had his trousers unfastened and halfway down before he knew, and he stripped off her stockings. In the chilly attic, cocooned by their bed, Rumplestiltskin felt a woman completely bare against his body for the first time. There was no tickle of shirt sleeves, no scratch of trim or soft rub from stockings. He, too, had rarely let his wife see him to spare her his bent self. The one that embarrassed her, the crippled coward. 

Now the body that Milah rejected was being covered in kisses by Belle. 

Her breast on his arm, belly at his side, and her legs by his hip. Every inch in reach. He lay still, shocked by the newness of so much touch, so much relief. The tangles were cut away and a new thread had started. There was still fear, for there was the unknown and he did not like it, but he would take this new thread with both hands and hold on even if it meant being cut to the bone.

The skin of her back was softer than he imagined. The blankets fell away when he sat up to hold her, to burrow against her, and again the faint light glinted off her edges. 

He’d complimented her beauty before, praised her hair, her eyes, her smile. This time he held his tongue, preferring to let hers slide along his lip and find it. The whole of her was so overwhelming that there was no way to put words to it. Not now, because she was more than she appeared, and that was what others missed, what he nearly missed by pushing her away. She didn’t push him away. She must be horrified, afraid, repulsed, and yet she understood. All he had, he would protect. She only did the same.

“Rumple.” A murmur across his ear as she opened herself, folding him closer. He shifted down and kissed her shoulder, neck, and her chin. “I meant it, every word.” Her voice vibrated in her neck, the words echoing through her. “I could.” 

His only answer was a jumble of sounds that rushed through him. Her heat could melt him, melt the winter away, skip what was coming.

No one could ever, ever…

“Belle,” he sighed. Kissed her face, her shoulders, suckled her breasts and let a hand stray over her waist, her hip. She was hot. Even from a few inches away, the radiating warmth meant want -- his and hers. She was comfort and strength and joy and pain. Was it…

Wet and sliding. She arched into his touch and scooted down to kiss him, her hair a riot of dark and shadow all around her. Flush against her, tucked against heat and seeping honey, dizzy with her.

There was only this. Home and family and wanting and belonging. Arms and sex and kisses.

He slid upwards for her kiss, and Belle’s lips opened against his. Cool air brushed by Rumplestiltskin’s cheek and the chill spurred him into motion. Cold had no place in their embrace and he buried himself deeper in her warm arms. His cock slid against her, grazing her slippery and hot sex, and she rose to meet him. Arched up for a kiss, her mouth already open.

Gods, her knees by his sides, legs trembling as he held as much weight as he could bear on his elbows and knees. He tried to rise up to his hands, but Belle pulled him back down, holding him close. The slight movement was enough, making her quiver around him as he thrust, no space between them.

He would always stay close. As close as he could. As close as station, rank, and law allowed. 

In a few months, that might not be very close.

“Oh! Rumple…” She gripped him and scratched her nails along his side sending sparks and tremors up his neck and down his arms. Summer storms caused lightning, too, but never so much welcome. Belle rocked her body with him, letting them press and grind together. Her eyes flew open, then snapped shut as a powerful squeeze gripped him, blinding him. The shallow pace he set fell apart, at once ragged and demanding as Belle’s voice in his ear, hot breath in sharp contrast to the cool night air.

Tight fire erupted across his belly and forced his forehead to her shoulder, muffling his gasping cry. As he ground himself harder, seeking relief deeper in her. Belle moaned, urging him again as her body tightened around him once more. It wrenched his climax into being, shredding the caution he’d thought paramount. He arched up, keeping their bodies pressed tightly together as he struggled to draw breath through the spasms jerking his body into near pain.

Sparks danced in his vision. When he looked down again, to the woman beneath him, wrapped around him, she shimmered like a fairy. Like the fairy he thought she was once. 

“Belle,” he breathed, tracing the curve of her. 

Her hand went behind his neck. “Rumple.” Her tongue was slick against his mouth. The strength went out of him and he collapsed against her, rolling to the side and pulling the covers over them. In minutes, the dizzy, drifting feeling was fading, replaced by sleepy contentment. It was a feeling he was afraid to trust, but it was too good to spoil. Who knew how much longer he could have it? 

When it was gone he could lock it up in the chest with the stockings and shawl she wouldn’t need anymore, no matter how much he hoped she might at least retain a keepsake of him. Something to prove she’d been there.

Fingers scratched at his scalp, sending zings over his skin. “Rumple, I said I could…” Belle sighed and put her palm over his heart. “I think I lied.” 

Rumplestiltskin winced. 

“Oh, Rumple, no.” She took his hand and placed it over her chest. Her heartbeat was strong, breast soft and warm in his palm. “I loved you already.” 

…

An elbow bumped his ribs. “Aren’t you asleep yet?”

“No. I’m… not used to sharing a bed.”

“You must have. Noblewomen are never left alone. Especially maidens.”

“True, but my maids never touched me as I slept.”

“I’m sorry.” He started to roll away, trying to give her space. “I’ll move.”

She pulled his arm back and tucked it against her middle, just under her breasts, and scooted until their bodies touched. “Don’t you dare.” She sighed as he kissed the back of her neck. 

…

There are no secrets in a small house during winter. Not for long.

“So you’re a princess?” Bae asked a few days later. Since the honey had run out, breakfast was less interesting than their houseguest.

“Bae!” Rumplestiltskin warned. 

“What? You aren’t asking.” Bae let a glob of porridge slide off the spoon with a plop.

Belle set a bowl in front of Rumplestiltskin. “That’s because we’ve already discussed it.” She sat at the table. “And I’m not, wasn’t, a princess. I was the daughter of a border lord loyal to King George.” She took a bite and sat with her shoulders squared.

Bae tilted his head. “Did you meet the King?” Rumplestiltskin dropped his spoon.

“Of course, but last time was a few years ago. Before the Ogres returned.”

They all shuddered. Rumplestiltskin set his cup down. “Bae, I think-”

“But you’re going to tell the King that your Papa isn’t a traitor? Do you think he’ll believe you?”

Rumplestiltskin watched as Belle set her jaw. “I’ll be brave. He’ll see that we are loyal and no threat to him. He’ll believe me. He has to.” She nodded and raised her spoon for a bite.

Bae took a bite, chewing the oats and copying Belle’s posture. As he dipped into the bland sludge for another bite, he paused. “What then?”

“What when?” Belle said.

“After the King lets you and your Papa go. What then?”

Rumplestiltskin felt his chest tighten. His appetite gone, he pushed his chair back soundlessly and stood, taking his bowl, and dumped his half-eaten breakfast back into the pot. 

“Well, Bae. I’ll be free to do what I wish.” Belle smiled. “Maybe I could finish my stockings and wear them on my new adventures!”

As Bae and Belle made up a story with sorcerers and fairies, Rumplestiltskin fought the urge to run, to get away from even a make-believe version of Belle leaving. As whimsical as it was, and likely for Bae’s benefit, he didn’t particularly want to hear their game.

The door swung quieter on the hinges as he headed out to the wood pile. It was just a slight change, but the harshest cold was over and the grease was softening into the metal again. 

…

…

Belle had never witnessed such a deep winter, and as such, had never seen the otherworldly state of affairs that comes when it breaks. Faint warm spells, lasting only as long as the sun shone for brief hours here and there, melted portions of packed snow, only to refreeze into longer and heavier daggers of ice hanging off every available drip line. Every few days, Rumplestiltskin would hand her a hammer while he took the axe and together they knocked the columns of ice off the house and surrounding trees. 

“Falling snow is fine.” He glanced towards the house where Bae was safely inside. “Falling ice…” 

The smaller ones were beautiful, though. Sometimes bits of pine or leaves were caught in the glaze, almost like amber, and sparkled with melt under the sun. For all the strange beauty around her, she knew the time was short, so she decided to make the most of it.

Later that night, after the supper was put up and Bae was asleep, she stoked the fire well and dragged Rumple from his wheel. His protests died somewhere on the stairs as she loosened the front of her gown herself and flicked him with the loose ties.

…

“I think I’ll dye your yarn blue.”

“Why?” Belle kissed his shoulder. “If I make stockings, no one will really see them. Why bother?”

“Because,” he said against her lips between kisses. “Then they’ll match your eyes.”

She laughed softly. “But no one is going to see that.”

He smiled, but his eyes didn’t shine and his brow furrowed. “No one?”

Belle kissed him again and didn’t stop until he pulled back for breath.

…

The soldier’s horses had been quiet for a fortnight. It was long enough that Belle had nearly forgotten how loud their hooves sounded when they thundered over the road. They did not slow down as they approached this time, seemingly on the road towards Longbourne.

The wheel slowed and Rumplestiltskin took another handful of brushed wool. “They’ll be checking the roads, I expect.” The pedal softly bumped as he urged the wheel back up to speed. “There’s been at least a week of days above freezing.”

Belle set out plates and measured out portions. Late winter was a time to save. “Wouldn’t that mean the roads are worse?” She pointed toward the door and the rough road beyond. “Won’t all the ice make it completely impassable?” She could hear the desperation in her voice. Every day the ground was covered over by mounds of snow was another day she could pretend that this was her life. Hers, and not time stolen from a dream.

The whirring and faint thump of the pedal slowed and then stopped, leaving behind unnatural silence. Rumplestiltskin gazed at her from across the room. His sweet eyes were hungry. Hungry for the same lie. It wasn’t as if they could change anything, it just made the wait easier for a while.

“Yes, Belle. Completely.”

...


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks for the beta eyes of Luthien, without whose help you'd be subjected to my awful dialogue punctuation and tendency towards emotional distance. :)
> 
> And many, many thanks to you all for your patience.

One bag of potatoes, some dried carrots, three desiccated onions, two dried apples, and the oats were all that remained in the larder. Gifts from the tavern were smaller and, by silent agreement, kept mostly for Bae. A couple of eggs here and there and the occasional shreds of meat or a soup bone were all Granny could spare anymore. With the roads still impassable, too many people marooned in a small village made the late season lean.

Belle tightened the laces on her blue dress. She was far from starving, but could not remember a time when she’d ever had to truly go without. Not even during the war. 

But Bae was smiling and the tips of the trees were beginning to thicken with new buds. 

With a quiet smile, Belle poured a fresh cup of pine needle tea. The sharp brew was refreshing enough, though far from her favorite. She would share a single cup of real tea with Rumple later. 

If she was very careful, there was enough left to make it until the crocuses bloomed.

…

Bae brought back half a scrawny chicken and a few coppers. No one really cared about the money anymore, for it wasn’t much use if there was nothing to buy. The hunk of chicken, however, might as well have been a goose.

“Papa, there’s a new stable boy and he likes to ride Friend, too!”

Belle and Rumple exchanged glances. “Who is he?” Rumplestiltskin asked.

“I don’t know. It’s a grown-up.” Bae watched as Belle carefully portioned the meat, clenching her fingers to control the shaking that threatened to  
begin, and set some aside with the bones for soup. “He said I could keep any extra eggs if I found them.” 

With measured care, Belle smiled. “Oh! That’s nice, Bae.” She focused on the cutting board. Rumplestiltskin patted her shoulder, soothing her nerves. “How did Friend look?” Belle listened to Bae’s feet scurrying across the floor and imagined him dancing over their game board. Maybe a few games would help her relax.

“Strong. The stable boy says he can walk in the snow and ice without slipping at all. Can I take him for a ride? Please, Papa?”

“Um, perhaps…” Belle heard Rumple hesitate and looked up. He was wringing his hands and looking everywhere but at her.

Seeing Rumplestiltskin struggling, unsure of how to answer, Belle set her knife down and wiped her hands. “Bae, how about we all go for a ride soon?”

“Can we?” Bae bounced and looked from one carefully bland face to the other. “Really, Papa?” 

“We’ll see, son. Soon.”

…

At supper, Rumple passed a bowl of soup to Bae and then another to Belle, who was handing out spoons and setting out the bread. Belle sat and filled her cup with pine needle tea, enjoying the sound of the silver against the bowls and Bae’s tired, happy chatter.

She knew the soup was thin, but there was butter enough for Bae and the tea smelled nice, so she closed her eyes and was thankful for another quiet day. Belle took the loaf from Rumple and was about to tear a piece off when he froze suddenly, shushing Bae.

There was slow movement outside. Plodding, heavy footfalls. Then she heard it… The bray of a donkey. 

She didn’t realize how badly her hands were shaking until Rumple took the loaf back and tore a piece off for her.

…

Belle slopped the last batch of wet linens over a line. Sunshine that had been anemic for so long was now warm on her face and the sheets and cloths would dry faster for it. While no one would accuse the breeze of being anything but chilly, it was a far cry from the biting, gnawing cold they’d endured for so long.

She couldn’t help smiling in spite of everything. There was something wonderful about being outside and still able to feel your fingers. The donkeys seemed no more than a faded nightmare.

Rumple and Bae would be happy to have fresh clothes when they got back from a delivery. Though lunch would be the last of the meat until Bae’s aim with his sling improved, she used some of her dried herbs and a dash of salt for extra flavor. Anything left could be baked in a bit of pastry for Bae.

There was just enough tea left for that night. She and Rumple would share it before having to switch to pine needles entirely. She set the teabox in a place of honor and made sure the latch was secure. It wouldn’t do to spill it now. She would have scrounged the floor and wiped each bit clean to make sure they could savor it later, drinking from their damaged cups; his dented, hers chipped. 

Imperfect as they were, they still worked. She wouldn’t have it any other way.

Familiar voices outside grew louder and the door swung open. “We’re home, Belle.” 

“How was town? Did you see Ruby?” Belle asked as she put folded clothes into a cupboard. There was no answer but the soft thump-step of the staff. She turned and saw only Rumple. He was ashen. “Where’s Bae?”

He swallowed. “Out front. Tying your horse.” He unrolled a parchment and handed it to her. “The new stable boy has a stack of these. They’ll be posted tomorrow.”

Belle scanned the heavy script. The words were carefully chosen, the intent clear. “That’s a very large reward,” Belle said, her heart beginning to pound.

Rumple nodded, pale and tight lipped. “It is.”

“No one in town would be able to resist.”

“Not likely.”

Belle looked over the poster. “How did you get one?”

“I didn’t.” Rumple looked over his shoulder. “The stable boy gave one to Bae when he visited Friend.”

“Oh.” The edges crinkled in her grasp, rippling her unwieldy given name with the parchment. “Tell… tell Bae lunch is ready, and that he can give Friend the rest of the carrots.”

… 

Belle put on her warm travel dress and her thick stockings, now mended four times. Bae packed food and filled skins with fresh water while Rumple filled his satchel with spools of thread. If he carried his wares, he could claim his tradesman status to gain access anywhere, and Belle could keep her hood lowered if things went wrong.

At this point, she wasn’t sure exactly what they’d do if things went right.

She tossed the poster into the fire, watching as her name slowly blackened until it was devoured by flame.

…

The horse pranced when Belle came out, hefting her travel bag. “Hello again, my friend. Are you up for another little trip?” Rumple took her bag and hooked it onto the saddle. The horse shook his mane. “Good.” Her voice caught. “Because it should be a short trip. Then we’ll come right back.” Belle leaned against the horse’s neck and stroked the well groomed coat. “I’ll build you a nice stable right here by the house and you can run in the woods all you want. Bae would love that. Would you like that, too?”

She petted the horse’s neck until Rumplestiltskin flipped a length of rope around the horse’s chest and formed a few turns into a lead. 

Strong, lean arms wrapped her from behind and hugged her close. “Time to go.” 

Belle held on, digging her fingers under Rumple’s cloak, pressing into the sleeves to feel him. The sun was so nice, and the first leaves had begun to peek from the tree buds. “I would love to see your home in spring.”

“You will.”

Clutching his shabby cloak, she turned in his arms and pulled him down for a kiss. 

…

They took turns riding with Bae, letting one rest while the other walked. The slow melt of early spring turned much of the road into a sticky sludge, and Rumplestiltskin used the rope lead to guide the horse to stay on the flatter, drier portions of the road, avoiding the last patches of ice and snow. 

There were deep cuts in the mud, dried here and there in ruts and ridges.

“A loaded carriage came this way since the last hard freeze. Not more than a fortnight ago,” Rumple said as he pushed a clod of mud with his staff. 

Belle stared at the road from atop the horse. “My father. Must have been almost the same time as the… the clerics.” She stared at the tracks and gave a mirthless laugh. “The King must be very bored indeed.”

Bae looked over his shoulder at her. “What do you mean?” 

Belle handed a skin of water to Bae. “He must have had those posters printed in advance. Once the clerics and my father arrived, he sent a messenger to the new stable boy to make sure we got one. He made certain we would be at Longbourne as quickly as possible.” She took the skin back and handed it to Rumple. “It was hardly a risk on his part.”

Rumple drank deeply. “No villager would resist a hundred gold pieces.”

Bae shrugged. “You did.”

From her high vantage point, Belle could see Rumplestiltskin’s gait change from measured to faintly wobbly for a moment. He tested a patch of mud with the end of his staff and mumbled. “That’s different, Bae.” 

“How? Was she paying for the room?”

Rumple gave the rope a yank, urging the horse to keep moving. “Of course not. She was our… guest.”

…

The aftermath of war was more evident as they neared Longbourne. Despite the harsh winter, it was clear that activity had never stopped near the province seat. Sloppy roads had been maintained with heavy traffic and regular shoveling, shored up in places with cartload upon cartload of gravel and lined by large rocks. Everything else was branches and brambles. Belle’s eyes blurred needled evergreens with the bare bark into a muddy mix, cut through by the road.

Belle and Rumple were walking together, neither wanting to sit anymore. Sitting meant rocking back and forth in the saddle and Belle could stomach it no longer. Best to place one foot in front of the other and keep her eyes on the… white lumps?

“Are those tents?” Belle squinted to get a clear view through the tree limbs.

“Aye. As many as twenty, I think.” 

She drew in a burning breath. “Dangerous?”

“Hard to say.” Rumple turned and looked at her. “We aren’t quite close enough to the city for shanties or clerics. They’re probably refugees.” He swallowed. “We may have some trouble getting by quietly.”

Belle felt her eyes sting. Refugees could be from her home lands or even Avonlea. “Wait. I have something.” She pulled a flap of her travel bag open and drew out her fullest coin bag. It jangled heavily in her hands. “How much?”

“What?” Rumple frowned. 

“To buy us passage.” 

He refused to take the lumpy bag. “I can’t take that. It’s yours. Besides, they’ll remember you.”

“I’ll keep my hood low, you give them the money.” She held the bag out and shook her head when he tried to step away. “It was part of my getaway plan, my escape from home. I didn’t know what I was doing then.” Belle pushed it into his hand and reached back to loosen up her hood. All she had left was the other, nearly empty bag. Just a few coppers and silvers and that was all; enough for them to eat for a few days.

Rumple clutched the bag. “Do you know now?”

Those coins were meant to keep her until she was home, free, or safe. “Yes.” She flipped the hood over her head, tugged it down, and started to walk. “I don’t need it anymore.” 

…

Belle’s heart pounded for a long time after they passed the tent village. The refugees barely glanced at her and the horse she led as they called out to Rumple, who gingerly pressed coins into the hands of the children who ran up to him.

“May the Fates bless you, sir!”

“Gods keep you and your family!”

When the bag was empty, the crowd dispersed and let them by, blessings shouted at them as they passed. A little girl gave Rumplestiltskin a crocus bud, not quite opened, yet deep purple streaked with green and white. 

Belle circled round the horse and brought Rumplestiltskin the lead once they were away, eager to be free of the rope. Rumple’s hands were both occupied, one by his staff and the other with the fragile flower. Through watery eyes, Belle watched as he made a slight bow, holding the bud out to her.

“If you’ll have it.” 

“Thank you.” She traded the lead for the flower and pulled him close, wiping her eyes on his shoulder.

…

Billowing smoke dragged a lazy path through the trees, filling the air with the smell of char as they walked. The outer wall of the city was ahead, and soldiers were encamped on either side of the road. There was no way to pass without being noticed.

Rumplestiltskin pulled the stuffed bread from the travel bag and tore a piece off for Bae, who swallowed bites without chewing. He held a piece out to Belle. “Hungry?” 

She shook her head. “I’ll be sick if I eat.”

“Pretend, then.” She took a piece and they watched as others approached the gates. A soldier flicked a hand at a man’s hood, and the man lowered it as his wife lowered hers. Another traveler’s cart was uncovered and checked before being waved through the gate. 

Belle’s lips trembled. “We’ll never get past them,” she whispered.

Rumple pointed to the near edge of one camp. “Or them.” Hooded figures stood in a formation near a group of tied donkeys. “We have to get by them first.”

Belle’s mouth dropped open in horror. “We’ll go to another gate.” 

Rumplestiltskin shook his head. “Every entrance will be like this.” 

“We’ll run. Scream.”

He leaned heavily on his staff and looked pointedly at Bae. The boy, not hearing their hushed conversation, simply smiled and took another bite.

Smoke swirled around them, stinging Belle’s eyes as much as her anger and frustration. “It can’t end like this.” She stomped on the rocks, letting the pain in her feet answer the one in her heart. “It just can’t!” Belle fought the shaking in her hands by clenching her fists and paced, drawing in deep breaths, gasping for calm, kicking bits of gravel free. They bounced uselessly; as useless as she was. Belle sat on one of the large boulders lining the road, running her wind chapped hands through her hair and tugging until the roots gave her something to feel. 

Rage and fear scraped at her insides. She’d failed. Everything she’d done was pointless. All the time was wasted. All she’d gained… lost. She held it in until her lungs burned, dragging out a sob. Belle cried, covering her face and cursing her foolishness. In minutes, she quieted, ashamed for her outburst but no closer to an answer.

Rumplestiltskin had been quiet, letting her vent her anger, but when she finally looked up he was staring at the horse.

“What?” Belle’s voice cracked. “Is there something wrong with him?”

“It doesn’t have to end this way,” he said, holding up the lead. “If you don’t want it to.” 

Her eyes widened in horror. The rope lead. His rope. The rope. Belle blinked, trying to see clearly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m a coward, Belle.” He dropped the lead and hobbled to her, his staff knocking loose gravel free in chunks before clattering to the ground as he knelt before her. “But you’re not. There is a way, if you can be brave.”

…

The ropes were firm but did not bite her flesh as she walked. Rumple held the horse by the reins as Belle walked behind him, her hood off and her wrists bound together, tied to the saddle. No one could mistake them as man and wife, or anything other than captor and prisoner. 

They neared the edge of the clerics’ camp. “Belle, are you all right? The soldiers will have seen us by now.”

She held her head up. She was no commoner. Not today. Not when there was so much at stake. “I’m fine.”

“Good,” he said, barely loud enough to reach her ears as the first clerics noticed them –her—and roused others. “Because I’m not.”

“Keep walking. Don’t slow down.” In the distance, Belle could see a team of mounted soldiers start towards them.

As they walked, the clerics gathered by the road on either side. “It’s her!” Their sharp faces contorted. Flecks of spit flew from their lips as they jeered. 

One lurched closer, flickering his hands in the air as if batting at flies. “Demon’s whore.” 

“The bishop will cleanse the meat from your bones!”

One leered, cupping himself and making vulgar thrusts at her. “Not before he prepares her first…”

Belle fought it, but couldn’t help flinching. Do the brave thing… 

Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders rose higher, cringing from the onslaught even as the heavy thud of the horses’ hooves grew louder. Refusing to bow her head, she kept her arms extended, making a show of the rope that extended from the saddle. 

The clergy surrounded them on all sides, slowing their progress. In the corner of her eye, a terrified Bae lay down on the horse’s back and neck, clinging to the mane. Belle pressed into the flank, trying to protect herself with her bound hands. A hand raked into her hair, pulling to make her expose her throat, as others tried to bend her elbows back.

“Belle!” Rumple cried, unable to reach her, held back by a row of hooded wraiths.

“Enough!” A voice roared from above. Horses pounded the road bed with armored hooves, driving the cluster of bent demi-men away. “Get back!” 

The hand in her hair yanked away, snapping strands painfully from her head. “We’ll have you yet, slag.”

“Use that tongue again and I’ll cut it out, heretic.” 

Bae suddenly sprang up in the saddle. “It’s you!”

The soldier inclined his armored head. “I might say the same, sticky boy.”

“Hordor?” Rumplestiltskin said. The other soldiers pushed back the crowd and guarded their space in the road. When the clerics were away, with a wall of swords and prickly soldiers separating them, Belle stepped away from the horse, disheveled and relieved.

The mounted soldier bent forward and pulled his helmet off, the face shield clanking on the hinge. “You make good time. I didn’t expect you for hours, Spinner.” He dropped down from his warhorse with a thump she could feel through her boots and presented himself to Belle with a stiff bow. “Lady Isabelle, forgive us. It was necessary.” He gestured to the now pacified clerics. 

Angry now but still short of breath and unsteady on her feet, Belle did her best to sound dignified. “Necessary for what?”

“To determine intent, Lady.” Hordor tapped his insignia, King George’s emblem. “Intent is everything.” He tossed his helmet to one of his men and mounted his horse, making no move to relieve her of her bonds. “We will escort you to the castle. You are expected.”

…

If there was a difference between her protective guards at Avonlea and those who held her under suspicion of treason at Longbourne, Belle could not see it. Only the careful wrapping of rope marked her change in position.

The paved walkway through the courtyard was lined with gawkers and market-day shoppers, their baskets full of early spring offerings. When the soldiers dismounted, Rumplestiltskin helped Bae down and untied the rope from the saddle. Belle watched as her horse was led away with the soldier’s mounts, the groom assuring Rumplestiltskin that his horse would be looked after.

Belle, aware of the inherent symbolism, stayed behind Rumplestiltskin and held her head high. The soldiers parted the crowd, splitting the courtyard’s market day bustle down the middle until they reached the stairs leading to the great doors of the castle.  
Hordor pounded the door and a metal plate slid away. “I am Hordor, chief guard to King George and agent of his throne. Is the King at his court?” Hordor intoned.

“He is,” shouted the guard within. “What affair have you brought?”

“I bring the Lady Isabelle, daughter of the Marquise at Avonlea of the Marchlands. She…” He paused and looked over his shoulder. “She has been captured and brought to give testimony.”

“The court awaits.” The plate slammed shut and the screech of metal heralded the unbarring of the doors. Belle’s heart raced at the sound, pounding in her chest hard enough to make her catch her breath.

She’d made it, but at what cost? And who would bear the cost? She knew what waited behind the gilded doorways, engraved panels, and stained glass, but did Rumple? Her skin crawled at the idea of the traps and false facades inside. Her courage flagged, and her feet remained stubbornly rooted.

With the change in the rope’s tension, Rumplestiltskin turned. For the first time since they were joined by the guards, she saw his face. It was drawn, pleading. Ever so lightly, he tugged at the rope with one hand, the other holding Bae’s hand tightly.

“Belle?”

She set her feet in motion.

…

At least a hundred people, including a handful of minstrels, ladies in waiting, and the King’s council lined the great hall at Longbourne. Banners of all the houses of the realm, including Belle’s own, hung from heavy beams anchored in the buttresses overhead. Massive panels of stained and engraved wood, magnificently lit chandeliers of wrought iron, and flashing, over-dyed silks blinded Belle with their contrasts and colors. Courtesans and social climbers hopped and twittered to get away from her, pulling at their ridiculously wide skirts to avoid brushing them against her.

She wasn’t even dirty. 

The milling around, stage whispers, and falsely sympathetic cooing grew louder and louder. The women fluttered fans and the men nearest raked her with their eyes in silent appraisal. Other men hurried through the crowd to the other side of the hall where gray hair and somber clothes reigned. 

A caped herald raised his staff and slammed it against the floor. “Your Majesty, La Fille de Marquis Isabelle Marie deFiler Patrie and…” The herald paused in confusion as Hordor whispered in his ear. “And… The Spinner.” 

The knot of dignified greybeards parted, revealing a somberly dressed man standing at a long table with only one chair.

“Lady Isabelle! I have not seen you since you were in short skirts.” The King rose and walked around the table. His advisors rushed out of his way, black velvet flapping like crows’ wings. “You have grown so lovely, my dear.” 

Belle curtseyed low, and the King took her hands to raise her back up. Fingers lingered on the ropes. “Hordor, what is this?” He slipped a curved, engraved knife from his belt. “Forgive him, dear. He is a skilled soldier, but an oaf at court.” King George slid the blade carefully under the rope and cut her free. 

He rubbed her wrists. “We’ve no need of this now, do we?” He smiled as he turned quickly and handed the cut end of the rope to Hordor. Rumplestiltskin stood in silence, still holding the other end. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She flexed her hands, but kept her arms at her sides, careful to appear modest and calm, even though she wanted to hide.

The king’s heavy chair was brought and a small table with a chalice set beside it. “I am told, dear child, that you broke your engagement with Sir Gaston and fled your homeland. Is that correct?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Why? To plot against me?”

Her cloak and travel dress were suddenly too warm. “No, Sire. I fled because the people of Avonlea were desperate after the war. Had I married Sir Gaston, he would have gutted what was left of my home.”

“Are you suggesting that I, as your sovereign, would not have rebuilt the province that had defended my kingdom from invasion?”

“No, Sire!” She was starting to sweat. This was not what she had expected. “Gaston had ruined the markets and did not use the resources at hand to restore Avonlea and the surrounding villages. Nothing we produced was at the market, and the best lumber, lumber we could have used to rebuild the city, was given to…” She squeezed her eyes in a hard blink. “Given to the clerics. There was talk of treason.”

“Ahh. Yes.” The King ignored the chair but held out the exquisite glass cup. It was instantly filled. “Tactless little thieves and disciples. So you objected to the clerics taking residence in Avonlea.”

She sighed in relief. “Yes, Sire.”

“But not to accepting the advice of their degenerate golem, The Dark One.” 

A collective gasp, like a whip’s flight, echoed in the great hall. Belle’s mouth fell open. “I- I didn’t-” 

“Yes you did, Lady,” he bent and whispered in her ear. “You set me free.”

She stared, unable to breathe, and could see it. The skin was smooth and the eyes human, but the smirk, last seen in shadow from under a hood in her childhood courtyard, was the same. 

The King drank deeply as the court churned with activity and Belle’s heart pounded, her knees turning to water. He toyed with his cup, spinning it thoughtfully, and the whispers quieted. The dregs of wine left bloody streaks on the blown glass. 

...


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thanks to Luthien for her excellent beta skills.

“Shush, shush.” Rumplestiltskin watched as the king waved a hand at the crowded court. “We cannot give in to scurrilous rumor.” The crowd stilled, clutching their useless finery. Even the tapestries glinted with gold and silver filament.

The king turned back to Belle. “Now, my dear. What did you do after you fled? Where did you go?”

Belle’s chin shook and Rumplestiltskin could see her fingertips tapping against each other. Her voice was clear despite the wavering. “I rode until my horse went lame. Then I walked until I could walk no farther.” She glanced at the floor. “I was offered work in the village where I collapsed.”

“Yes, one so small it has forgotten its own name.” The king leaned on the table and crossed his ankles leisurely. “And so you spent the whole of winter quietly toiling away until yesterday?”

“Yes.” Belle said quietly. “In a manner of speaking.”

The King inclined his head. “And what manner would that be, dear?”

Rumplestiltskin twisted the bit of rope in his hands as Bae burrowed into his side. When her eyes slid to him, only for a moment, Rumple felt his heart throb. The roar in his ears nearly drowned out her words. 

“None that will trouble your throne, Sire.”

“I should think not.” King George strode to the table and turned, stroking his chin. “Had you fled to a castle, you would have been captured. Had you huddled with neighboring princes I would have beheaded your father.” Belle gasped but the King spoke over her. “Had you done anything other than what you did, I can assure you that I would have burned your refuge to cinders and taken Avonlea for a winter cottage.” He slammed his goblet down onto the table.

Belle jumped. Sinew in the side of her neck stood out. “I understand, Your Majesty.”

“No you don’t.” He pushed some sheets of parchment around and lifted one from the pile. “I didn’t expect you to.” The crowd twittered.

The King approached Hordor, momentarily ignoring Belle, and handed him a parchment. “Is this the same announcement?”

“Aye, that it is, Your Grace.” Rumplestiltskin could recognize the announcement from that morning. The lettering of the reward was smudged. Smeared by greedy handling.

The King smiled. “You see, Lady Isabelle, a king who does not know everything that goes on in his kingdom is not a king for long. His crown is tarnished by the many fingers that grasp at it. The only way to keep it clean…” He paused, scanning the room. “Is to cut off the hands of those that dare reach for it.” 

Someone coughed.

The King snapped his fingers and a pair of pages hefted a small chest forward. “It also means that he must reward those who assist in protecting it.” 

Rumplestiltskin pitched forward as Hordor gave him a push. His hands worried the rope end he was still holding, twisting it and weaving it around his fingers even as he knelt before the King. “You are called Spinner?”

He looked down. “Y-Yes, Your Majesty.” The King’s boots had a fine dull sheen against the stone floor.

“And you brought the Lady?”

The words tripped out of Rumplestiltskin’s mouth. “Yes. Yes, Your Majesty.” 

The King flipped a latch on the chest. He’d hardly seen it more than once, but the sheen was unmistakable. 

“Then rise, Spinner, and have your reward.” Rumplestiltskin’s mouth fell open. This could not be happening. Not twice in the same lifetime. He could not have his heart ripped out again, he’d never survive it. He’d be dust, no good to anyone. No good to Bae.

“You see, Spinner, though she has been no threat to me, others may feel she is remarkably useful. A powerful marriage, for instance, could still allow potential claim to my throne.” The King smirked, then opened his mouth for a deep breath. “James!” he bellowed, and then looked back at Rumplestiltskin. “So, of course, I must render her completely powerless.” 

A muffled laugh, and the clank of pewter, made Rumplestiltskin look back as guards knelt and pulled a man from the floor. The man pitched forward, slopping ale over himself and puffing his chest at the guard. “What? I was just starting to have fun!” The man’s shaggy red-blond hair and aristocratic features might have been handsome if his eyes were not clouded and swollen from drink. His untied shirt left his chest exposed, decorated by marks and scratches.

The King walked around Belle, looking her over from behind as the drunken man was dragged closer. The casual inspection of her made Rumplestiltskin want to throw his cloak over Belle and Bae to hide. His stomach churned.

King George strolled closer and leaned forward. Rumplestiltskin could smell the wine. “Hordor, please escort our faithful servant to the gates. With his reward.” 

Very slowly, Rumplestiltskin was turned and walked toward the doors of the great hall. His feet were suddenly heavy, as if the gold had been dumped into his boots. Bae’s support kept him upright.

Looking back, he saw the King brush the drunken man’s hands away from his fine doublet. “James. How good of you to come to court.”

The man staggered slightly when the guards released his arms. “Tell her I’ll be right back!” He straightened, eyed the King, the gold, then Belle. Rumplestiltskin tried to keep walking, escaping, but he bumped into Hordor, who blocked the exit and held his finger to his lips and motioned for him to watch. He could have ducked around the big man, but something made him stay. Something warm kindled in his blood.

“Lady Isabelle, may I introduce my son, James. He’s a drunkard, lazy, crude, and has more bastards than I can keep track of, but he is my blood. I am willing to offer you a life of luxury in exchange for marrying him and providing a legitimate heir to the throne.”

Belle choked. “What?” 

“What?” James shouted.

Rumplestiltskin was held up by Hordor’s grip on his collars.

The King’s eyes flashed. “Well, you know what they say, Lady.” He flourished a hand in the air. “A blooded title is the prize!”

She swayed and clutched her heavy skirts. “No, no you can’t.” Belle crumpled to the floor, the cloak and dress pillowing out around her. Rumplestiltskin tasted hot metal. He’d bitten the inside of his cheek.

“Oh, yes I can. I’m the King,” the king giggled. “And without a prior claim, I don’t particularly care what you got up to on your holiday in the woods. I heard there was a new whore in the village, though she was quite discreet.” 

Hordor took a step forward, pushing Rumplestiltskin and Bae. With his face warming, Rumplestiltskin gripped the rope in his hand hard enough to feel the fibers dig into his fingers as he edged closer and closer. He had no gauge here, no idea how to respond. This wasn’t his world-- he didn’t understand it. He understood work and hauling water and banking fires at night so the sun would not catch him unprepared. 

Rumplestiltskin did not understand this.

Belle covered her mouth, shaking her head. “This isn’t supposed to happen,” she moaned.

Prince James blustered and was led to the table to wait. The King approached Belle, his fine boots silent on the stone floor. “What was supposed to happen, then?” The King tugged her hands away from her face and pulled her up to stand. “The Spinner says you were his prisoner but…” The King extended her arms to expose her wrists, white and unmarked. “Your skin says otherwise.”

Belle swayed, held up by the King’s firm grip on her arms. “Please, I’ve done so much.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, drowned out by the rustling of the crowd and the Prince’s protests.

“You did,” the King said quietly. “And everything comes with a price, so I’m paying my debt.” He pushed her back and she wobbled, barely keeping her feet. “Hordor!”

This time, Rumplestiltskin had to thrust his staff out to catch himself. The loud crack against the stones made Belle spin around. She was ashen.

The King waved to Rumplestiltskin, beckoning him closer. “Spinner, I wish to bestow a great honor. My son will require a witness to honor his good marriage.” He flourished his hand at the chest of gold. “For this service, I will triple the sum.” 

His eyes widened, then flicked to Belle. “No. I cannot. Sire.”

“Indeed.” The King leaned over and caught the loose end of the rope. He examined it with a squint. “It has come to my attention that there is some confusion as to who was at which end of this rope.” He yanked the cord and it slid harshly through Rumplestiltskin’s hands. “Did the Lady pay you? Better than me?”

“No, Your Majesty!” Rumplestiltskin’s face turned hot.

“Then why the sudden surge of disaffection? Only a moment ago you accepted a hundred gold as a reward.”

Rumplestiltskin winced.

“Ah, I see. You never accepted. Is that it?”

“No. I mean yes. I-” His tongue tangled in his mouth and his skin went cold. Bae tugged at Rumple’s cloak and looked up at him, frightened.

The King waved an end of the rope as if dusting a shelf. “Calm yourself. Then I will make myself quite plain. For three hundred gold pieces, you release Lady Isabelle to me and never look back. Or, keep the reward as gratitude for my cousin’s safety while she hatched a foolish plan to protect my throne.”

“And, what of me?” Belle’s voice cracked. 

“What of you?” The King repeated, eyeing her clothes, the clothes Rumplestiltskin’s own hands had mended. “You can’t stay at court like that. You look like a peasant.”

She looked down at her dress and smoothed the skirt with shaking hands. “It’s the best I have.” 

King George shrugged and wriggled the rope until it snaked along the floor. “You can learn to be a courtesan.” He raised an eyebrow at and lifted his refilled glass, leering. “Judging by the rumors, I assume you’ve taken care of preliminaries.”

Belle went stiff.

“No!” Rumplestiltskin shouted. “Please, Your Majesty.”

The King turned sharply. “Was there something you wished to say, Spinner?” He let out an exasperated sigh. “Or perhaps, announce regarding the Lady Isabelle?”

Belle stared at him, her eyes wide and shoulders quaking. Rumplestiltskin’s hands wrapped around the staff, knuckles white, his forehead clammy with sweat. He could do this. All he had to do was be a little bit brave. Just a few words and a little of Belle’s bravery. 

She needed him. She needed him to be brave for her just as she could be brave for her father and her people. For him.

“That woman’s name is Belle.” The tremble in his voice bounced off the stones, the wood panels, and echoed up to the distant vaulted ceiling. “And Belle.” He pointed with a shaky finger. “Belle is my wife.”

The room erupted into hissed whispers and melodramatic swoons. Hot and cold shivers ran over his skin as the King gave him a satisfied smirk. Belle, still gray, came to his side. She gripped his hand so hard it hurt but he didn’t care.

The King drank deeply from his cup, the red wine staining his lips. “Well. I was just starting to like the idea of seeing you at court, dear.” For the first time, the King’s voice was kind. “But then, I suspect you would have been missed.” He clucked his tongue. “Not by bishops or knights, but by pawns,” he quipped.

Belle sniffed. “Pawns may save a queen.”

“You were never going to be queen, dearie.”

Lowering into a deep curtsey, Belle bowed her head. “But my father and I will live.” She tilted her chin up and peered around the room. “Your Grace, please, where may I find him?”

“In Avonlea, rebuilding his city and province.” Belle gasped and the King laughed. “Did you really think I would uproot the man from his work? You are either as naïve as I thought, or you think me stupid.”

The King shook his head at Belle and gave Rumplestiltskin a curt nod. “Spinner, if I am not mistaken, the lady of this castle has missed your wares. Her maid will be summoned presently.” As he straightened his sleeves, he called out, flicking at his embroidery. “Don’t forget to take your wife with you this time, Spinner. She clutters my court.” 

Ugly laughter spread through the room and the tide of court began to flow toward the side doors. Men and women fanned out their silks and velvets to catch the light as they exited the doors, lining up for their next entertainment.

The crowd parted to clear a path to the side door for King George. He drank once more and paused, waving his arm as if commanding an orchestra. “Now to polish the smudges from my crown!” The King snapped his fingers and Hordor strode to his side. 

The King handed the length of rope he’d been toying with to the soldier. “Go on ahead. Use this to compel.” 

Hordor smiled, looped the rope over his arm, and left by the side doors. The King strode out behind him, his wine page trotting to keep up while holding a heavy silver tray. Blood-red wine sloshed from the decanter and speckled the floor.

The bray of donkeys came from the side doors, and the unmistakable sound of an axe was followed by the screams of men. Rumplestiltskin did not linger when the maid came for them.

…

The stone wall at their backs was warm with the sun and it helped still the shaking in their hands. When Belle finally caught her breath, she turned to Rumplestiltskin, squinting in the afternoon sun, hair sparkling brown, gold, and red. 

“So.” She tucked loose hairs back into the pinned mass upon her head.

“Aye.” He fussed with the ragged flap of his satchel and patted the rolled parchment in his hands. The scrape of the crisp edges in his hands proved it was real. “Lady Longbourne missed my thread more than I expected.”

“You’re to have four apprentices,” Belle said, watching the bustle of the market.

“She missed her thread a great deal.” He picked at his trousers, the fraying seams.

“You’re also a tailor. She commissioned a gown.”

“That she did.” Rumplestiltskin spotted Bae, grinning as he walked towards them with his hands full and carrying a basket. They’d given the boy a few coppers for the market with strict instructions to stay away from the side yard. It would be a day before the blood dried enough to hide with sand. 

He could almost pretend to be a poor spinner here, in his roughspun clothes and tattered cloak. Almost, if it weren’t for the honor guard ten feet away standing around the chest full of gold pieces, ready to escort him home. A new home in Longbourne he still wasn’t sure would feel empty or not yet. But the sun was warm and his son, just coming into sight from the crowd, was bringing food. 

“You’ll need a new loom. Good thing the house is big.” 

He looked over at her. “Are you sure it’s not… too big?”

Belle took his hand and inclined her head. “Bae will have his own room.” She smiled. “And we’re going to need space to grow.” 

Rumplestiltskin’s stomach flipped. “We will?” 

“We will.” Belle innocently folded her hands. “You’ll have your apprentices and I’m sure we’ll host my father at some point.”

Mouth agape, Rumplestiltskin could only stare in confusion. Thankfully, Belle did not make him wait long. She kissed him, laughing, and he hoped the joke was a good one, even if it was on him.

“My sweet Rumple. I would have my father know my husband.” She kissed his cheek, hugging him close. He would always worry, but at least there was no need to fear here. Belle was his. He was hers, and Bae was safe. It was all he’d ever truly wanted. 

Belle’s fingers squeezed his shoulders. “I don’t care where I see spring, so long as we share it together.” She smiled as Bae drew nearer, holding up what Rumple knew to be sticky sweet rolls. “I would have my father know how good Bae is. I would have him know that I married a man brave enough to defy a king, but gentle enough to tend my hair without a brush.” She lowered her voice, lips by his ear. “Tender enough to please me.”

“Where is this man?” Rumplestiltskin teased. “I’ll take my staff to him.” 

“Who, Papa?” Bae asked as he set the basket down and they prepared to sup. 

Rumplestiltskin grinned. Belle was smiling, her face shining with joy and radiant in the sunlight. “Anyone who tries to say Belle isn’t my wife.” 

...  
...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue to go...
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	28. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many, MANY thanks to Luthien, audreyii_fic, flameysaur, and justrumbelledearie for acting as betas, prereaders, and just being generally supportive and enthusiastic for a story I enjoyed writing. I hope you've enjoyed reading.

Maurice grimaced again as another bump in the road jostled his weary bones. For every complaint he wished to make, he reminded himself that his daughter had travelled this way alone, in the first blast of winter, and in fear for her life. 

So he said nothing. He had no right to voice his discomfort.

Nor was he sure he had a right to make this delivery. Belle could always send him away, but the harvest had been the best in his memory. Some fields had lain fallow for two years before the refugees of war could return to work them. The finest crops sprang from fields watered with blood. Whether it was in honor of the dead or to help replace them, he did not care, but the granaries were filling and the storehouses bursting.

The delivery was for Longbourne in thanks for the care and maintenance of his refugees, and to offer to take them back home. Maurice strained to look back at the wagons behind his carriage. It was all carefully selected fruit and sweets, preserved lemons and other commodities only found near the rich coast—a sampling of their finest to tempt the inland stronghold into stronger trade agreements. Avonlea overflowed with riches, but war had damaged trade relationships.

He sighed and leaned his head against the padded carriage wall. Trade was not the only damaged relationship from war. 

He dozed restlessly.

…

“My Lord, we are near.”

Maurice snapped awake and straightened. “Thank you. How much farther?”

The guard patted his mount to soothe her prancing. “There are a few more houses, but you can see the Spinner’s sign from here.” He paused and signaled for a halt. “I’ve had the column disperse and sent the main wagons to the castle. Yours is still here, awaiting your command.”

With a smile, Maurice unfastened his ornate cloak and took a more modest one from the corner. The shepherd he bought it from yesterday could afford a much warmer one now. “Good. I’ll walk from here.”

“My Lord?”

“ _Sir,_ ” Maurice interrupted. “No announcement, no escort, no arms. I wish to see for myself.”

His guard frowned, but nodded. “Of course. I’ll send two riders ahead quietly.”

Maurice sighed. “If you must. I’ll lead the wagon myself. The old nag pulling it isn’t likely to rear up on me.”

The autumn air crept under the light cloak and Maurice welcomed its crispness after the cramped carriage. Three weeks of travel and anticipation made him uneasy about coming here, but he might not get another chance after the winter set in. Not after what happened last winter.

The house was large, a cobbled together affair of wood and stone. It gave the impression of two houses stuck together by mutual agreement. He could see into the back garden where a jumbled group of plants showed off the season’s last greens and plantings. A larger area was marked off with sticks and sturdy twine, clearly laying out future plans.

Maurice slowed and pulled the tarpaulin off the back of the wagon. The large baskets were in view, and in his rough cloak he looked like any man leading his wares to market, as long as no one looked too closely at his fine boots peeking from under the flapping cloak. He could not stay long today for he was expected at the castle. That was probably a blessing, so he pressed on.

As the guard had mentioned, the sign was large, easily seen even when two houses away. The placard bore a large engraved spinning wheel and loom, with a bronze inlay of the King’s seal. Anyone who saw it would know this was an official business, recognized by the crown for special service. 

A shriek rang out from the house, and Maurice’s heart pounded. _Belle._

“Bae! Put that back! That was for your papa!”

Childish squeals cut the breeze and a young boy cradling a small pie bounced from the house into the yard, giggling the whole way. “He won’t mind! You got plenty more, and I know he likes pumpkin just as much!” 

So it really was true, then. Belle would never return home to a triumphant welcome, would never wear a crown, nor claim a title. The arrangements had been made through the King. In return for rendering Belle powerless, she was completely safe from clerics and those seeking power. Was she safe in her home, though?

Then a sound he hadn’t heard in years. Laughter. Belle’s laughter. Maurice stepped more lightly, and gave the lead a tug. 

He could hear the smile in her voice. “Fine, but you’re not getting another one after supper!” 

Maurice dropped the lead by some tall grasses so the horse would stay near as he walked ahead. The shutters on the house were open, and he hurried to see inside. The front room was large and open, with spinning wheels on either side and a loom in the back. Every inch of wall was covered with bolts of fabric and heavy wooden trays full of glimmering colors. Two dress forms were draped in creations of the finest cut, and the embroidery looked as though it were made of wrought gemstones rather than thread. It  
was a cheerful riot of color and texture.

The rhythmic bump-scrape of spinning wheels grew louder as he drew closer to the door, staying to the side so as not to be seen. Not too soon, anyway. Two young women and a boy worked at the wheels as a little man, nearly forty to look at him, limped around the room. He held their hands around bolls of wool, used his staff to direct the foot pedal, and examined their products in a whirlwind of motion not to be expected from a cripple.

Crippled. Surely this could not be him.

But the man was careful, smiling gently when a pupil snarled the wool beyond repair and praising another when they tied off an end properly. 

“Rumple!” Belle’s voice called. She stepped into the big room from the hallway at the rear. “You’ll never believe what Bae just did.”

The man’s face brightened and he stood. “Let me guess. He stole my pie, ran away laughing, and stepped on one of your carrot plants on the way?” 

Belle walked to the man with an eyebrow raised and humor that Maurice had never seen flashing in her eyes. “He didn’t step on a carrot.”

“Good. He’s learning.” The man hugged Belle close and she raised her arms to wrap them around his neck. As small as she was, she did not have to rise up on tiptoe to hug him back. Perhaps that was far more telling of why she chose this life than anything else.

The pupils giggled when the man kissed Belle, but it was obviously not the first time they’d seen it. Belle smiled as she picked up a pitcher from a small table and filled cups with water while the man went back to his students. Maurice held his breath and scooted further to the side as she walked the room, her footsteps closer on the wooden floor.

With a gasp, the footsteps stopped. “Rumple? Do you see?”

A staff thumped on the floor. “What is it?”

Her voice trembled. “In the road. There.”

“The cart?”

Maurice looked. His seal. When he lifted the tarp away, he’d uncovered Avonlea’s seal on the side of the wagon. It was as good an announcement as any. He braced himself as he heard the door open.

Blue skirts fluttered at the doorway, swaying as Belle stopped at the threshold. She was waiting, perhaps as nervous as he was.

Maurice cleared his throat, and she jumped. “I bring goods from my lands to you, my lady.” He spoke softly, not wanting to frighten her. “A sample from our best vineyards, farmlands and… orchards.” Maurice took a small step forward. “If I recall, my lady likes apples.”

A tiny step brought her into profile. Her eyes were shining and her smile was brilliant. The man stepped out behind her, concern wrinkling his forehead but not moving to stop Belle. He might already know that there was no stopping Belle. Maurice thought he rather liked him already.

Her lip trembled and she plucked at her skirts. “You remember?”

His daughter’s eyes sparkled, caught in the overwhelming space between happiness and sorrow. This was no scraped knee or bruised ego he could soothe with words, but with his actions perhaps, one day, he could earn her trust again. Maybe in time she could even forgive him. 

Maurice swallowed hard. “Of course I remember.” He hoped the apples were a nice start. 

...

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was written to a very specific soundtrack. Here it is:  
> http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HAdXWM1btG4
> 
> Basically, I want my characters to end up happy little hobbits.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. It's been wonderful.


End file.
